


Deep Thoughts

by cupcakesnsarcasm



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Demons, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Mind Reading, Romance, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-01
Updated: 2017-04-08
Packaged: 2018-08-28 12:12:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 52,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8445406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cupcakesnsarcasm/pseuds/cupcakesnsarcasm
Summary: When the Winchesters find her, strung up and tortured by a demon, they realize she's something more than an average human.  Sam's curious, Dean's apprehensive, and Elise knows everything - because she can hear their thoughts.





	1. Rescue

                In the concrete room, there was one hell of an echo.  Her torture was amplified a hundredfold when it wrapped around the walls and came back to her, drilling into her ears.  She felt it over and over as she hung there, suspended by her arms, feet barely touching the ground.  Each cut, each slice, each slap was repeated, first in real time, then again, seconds later, in the sounds she heard.  It was awful.

                Her arms ached from the strain, but her muscles were long past shaking.  Blood braceleted her wrists, seeping from beneath the cuffs that held her, running down from the shallow cuts he’d made along her forearms.  Her ribs ached on the left side, where he’d punched her.  She figured that he’d cracked them, and when she breathed too deeply, the pain was damn near untenable.  Her nose still dripped blood, slowly, from his earlier slaps.  She was a total mess.

                The man approached her again, blade in hand.  He tipped her chin up, forcing her to look at him.  “How about now?” he demanded, gripping her face roughly.  “Ready to talk?”

                She narrowed her eyes, letting him see that she hadn’t broken.  She wouldn’t break; she didn’t care what he did to her.  “Sure,” she said, tongue thick in her mouth.  He hadn’t given her any water in the day she’d been there, so her mouth was dry beyond reason.  “How about those Red Sox?”  She smirked. 

                His eyes flashed angrily, and he released her chin.  Reaching down, he grabbed the front of her shirt, yanking it away from her body.  His knife slashed through the fabric, leaving her stomach and chest exposed, except for her bra.  “Guess I’ll keep carving, then,” he said, voice full of acid.  He held the tip of his knife at her collarbone, blade pricking her skin.  She could feel a drop of blood pooling there, trickling down slowly.  He looked at her, expectant.  She stared back, defiant, refusing to break eye contact, to give in.

                And the knife began to move. She heard it before she felt it, heard the quiet shearing noise that was the first layers of skin opening beneath his blade.  The pain came an instant later, and she cried out, head tilting back.  He reached the top of her lacy bra, now red with her blood, and paused.  She inhaled sharply, catching her breath.  But before she could really do that, he began again, this time drawing his blade across her stomach in a wide arc, and this time she didn’t cry out – she screamed.  He’d gone deeper this time, making his cut more violent, and she felt it all.  Her scream rang through the room, piercing her own ears, but she couldn’t hold it in.  She’d keep her secrets, she knew that, but she couldn’t keep from screaming.  Blood slid down her stomach, staining the waistband of her jeans.  She gasped for breath as he pulled the blade away.

                He smiled at her, and she caught the feeling of certainty rolling off him in waves.  He was sure he’d be able to push her over the edge, that he could beat her into submission, and he was enjoying her screams.  That made her angry, made her want to push back even harder.  She caught her breath and spoke.  “You think that your knife is going to make me tell you things?”  She was breathing heavy, like she’d run a few miles.  “You think you can break me?”  She caught his eyes, holding his gaze.  “You haven’t got a chance.”

                Before she could say anything else, his hand shot out, lightning fast, and he slapped her across the face.  The sound rang through the room like a gunshot.  Her head rocked back, and she sagged further against the cuffs on her wrists.  Blackness rolled across her field of vision, just at the edges, and she felt herself slipping away.  He’d hit her before, but not like that – this time, he’d thrown his full strength behind the move.  She shook her head, trying to clear her vision, aware that a bruise would bloom across her cheekbone, and that blood was dripping from the corner of her mouth.  “Feel better now?” she asked, trying to provoke him.  She knew it wasn’t smart, but she was too angry to rein it in.

                He stepped toward her.  “Not yet,” he said, twirling the blade.  “But I bet I will soon.”  He reached for her again. 

                She braced herself.  It was going to be a long day.

 

 

                Hours later, she was beyond screaming.  Her voice had turned to gravel, no longer sharp and piercing.  Each time he cut or pinched or slapped her, she groaned her dissent.  He’d poured water over her when she’d come close to blacking out, so she shivered in the cold room, her shredded clothing sticking to her skin.  He’d yanked her pants down her legs to give himself more room to cut, leaving her in her bra and underwear, with strips of fabric left from her shirt flapping around her and her jeans pooled around her ankles.  In a moment of clear, lucid thought, she’d realized that her bikini days were probably over; the scars from this day would scare the shit out of little kids at the beach.

                He’d left the room a little while ago, gone for supplies or something.  She shifted her weight from her left leg to her right, back and forth, trying to keep blood circulating in her body.  Her arms were numb, so she stretched her fingers, wiggling them to keep them alive.  She had to admit that he’d hung her up well; she couldn’t get enough weight on her feet to relieve her screaming arm muscles, nor could she do anything to shake herself free of the hook attached to the cuffs.  She was well and truly screwed here.

                But she wouldn’t give him the information he wanted.  That was certain.  She’d die before giving it up, and she didn’t think it would come to that – yet.  He’d only had her for a day so far, and she was pretty sure he wasn’t ready to give up yet.  She was expecting things to get worse before he’d kill her.

                She heard his footsteps in the hallway, and when he came through the doorway she saw that he was carrying a bag.  She eyed him warily.  There was nothing good in that bag, that was certain, and she wasn’t looking forward to the next evolution of torture.  Cutting and beating her hadn’t worked.  Stringing her up like a side of beef hadn’t worked.  Stripping her nearly naked hadn’t worked.  She didn’t know what he’d come up with next.

                He lay the bag on the table, pulling the zipper down slowly.  “Are you sure you don’t want to tell me?” he asked, looking at her sideways.  She didn’t acknowledge his question.  “No?” He paused again, giving her time to respond.  When she didn’t say anything, he began to dig around in the bag, pulling out things and lining them up on the table.  “Let me explain the next phase, then.  We have several options.”  He lifted a syringe and held it up to show her.  “This, my dear, is truth serum.” She raised an eyebrow, skeptical.  “You might be wondering why I haven’t used it yet, or if it really works.  It’s not exactly a first line of attack.  This drug was developed by some particularly twisted scientists, and while it is quite effective in getting the truth from someone, it has some rather nasty side effects.  It has left some people completely comatose for years, unable to speak or even blink for themselves.  The pain it causes is excruciating, you see, and it leaves the mind nearly shattered.  But it does get the truth out of you before you turn into a vegetable.”  He paused, laying the needle aside.  “Of course, my employer would rather not destroy your mind unless it’s completely necessary.  He believes that you’ll be useful, and he intends to keep you for his own purposes.” 

                Her mind raced.  Years of this?  A lifetime of this?  She’d prefer the drug. 

                He continued then, reaching into the bag.  He pulled out a small device, showing it to her.  “This, although it looks like nothing, produces a painful amount of electricity.  It’s not enough to stop your heart, but when applied to different areas of the body, it will stimulate your pain centers to the point where you’ll wish you’d never been born.”  He smiled at her, all teeth and sadism.  “I like this one.”

                He rummaged in the bag again, pulling out one more item.  “And for the last one, I thought you’d appreciate a little old-school pain.”  He showed her a leather strap, thick and heavy.  “I wonder how many strokes it’ll take before you beg me to switch to the shock device?”  His voice was mild, more curious than anything, and she knew he’d start there.  She gritted her teeth, already anticipating the pain.  “Last chance to speak up,” he told her, advancing with the strap.  “This will all end if you simply tell me what I want to know.”

                “I’m not telling you anything,” she spat, “except this.  Go to hell.” 

                He smiled again and stepped forward, leather in hand.  “I was hoping you’d say that.”  He stepped behind her, and she tried to brace herself.  She heard the swish of the strap, then the sharp crack as it connected to her skin.  For a moment she was surprised that she hadn’t felt anything, but then the pain sparked along her nerves, skin screaming from the impact, and all of the slashes he’d made in her skin felt like fire.  She cried out with whatever voice she had left, rocking forward from the force of the blow.  He laughed behind her, swinging again.  “You’ll talk,” he laughed at her.  He began to work around her body, hitting her thighs, backside, stomach… anywhere that her flesh was bare.  Tears streamed from her eyes, surprising her, because she had thought she was out of tears. 

                After dozens of lashes, she’d stopped screaming, and was merely focussed on getting enough air into her lungs between bolts of pain.  Each blow forced the air out of her body in a rush, and she was struggling to breathe.  She was barely holding onto consciousness.  He stepped in front of her, letting her catch her breath.  “You can stop this, you know,” he told her, running his nails along the welts he’d created.  She hissed at the sensation, the sharp spikes of ache.  “Just say the words and it’s all over.  I’ll take you down from the cuffs, give you something for the pain, clean you up all nice, and put you in a warm, soft bed until you’re better.”  He grabbed her backside, squeezing the angry, red flesh there.  She cried out, hoarsely, with what voice she had left.  “Just tell me what I need to know, and it ends right here.”

                She was looking past him now, not making any eye contact, head tilted as if listening to some far away sound.  She stared through the open doorway as his hand slid up her body, smearing her blood along her skin, and he squeezed her breast.  “No more pain, no more of this – just tell me what I want.”  She still didn’t answer, so he sighed and released her.  He walked to the table, putting down the strap.  He picked up the shock device and moved to stand in front of her again.  “We’ll have to keep going, then,” he said, flicking switches on the device.  Lights sprang to life and he opened the door at the end of the box, pulling out two wires that had alligator clamps on the ends.  “Are you sure about this?” 

                She broke her trance then, turning her head to look directly at him.  “I’m not telling you anything.  Ever.” 

                “We’ll see,” he murmured, squeezing the ends of the clamps to open their jaws.  He reached for her waist, as if to attach the first clamp there.

                “No,” she said, voice clear and cold.  “We won’t.”  And she laughed. 

                He straightened, looking directly at her, alarmed by the change in her tone.  He turned his head, but his move came too late.  A blade plunged through his back; lights sparked behind his eyes and through his body as he died.  He crumpled to the floor, leaving a tall man there, staring at her with the greenest eyes she’d ever seen.

                “Sammy!” he yelled, sliding the knife into the sheath at his waist.  A taller man, one with long brown hair, came through the doorway.  “Help me get her down,” he said.  The tall one moved to her side, lifting her body gently so that her arms could be freed from the hook.  She collapsed between the two men, pain singing through every nerve in her body as they spoke to her softly, carefully, telling her she’d be alright and that they’d take her to a hospital.

                “No,” she said softly, reaching for the arm of the green eyed man.  “Don’t take me to a hospital.”

                “Sweetheart, we’ve got to,” he reasoned with her.  “You’re in awfully bad shape.”

                “No hospital,” she repeated.  “I’ll be okay.” She gasped a little as they unlocked the cuffs, letting blood flow back into her wrists and hands.  “Superficial, mostly.  Please.” 

                The men exchanged a look.  She knew they didn’t want to listen to her, so she did the only thing that she thought could convince them.

                “Dean.  Dean Winchester.”  His green eyes widened as she spoke his name.  He hadn’t said it, but she’d pulled it from his mind, or from his brother’s, as soon as their hands had touched her skin.  She’d heard their thoughts as they’d come down the hall, and she’d known they’d get to her before the demon could start the shock torture.  She’d heard Dean’s anger, his concentration, and she’d heard Sam’s determination.  But when they touched her skin, she’d heard so much more, and she used that now, to get them to keep her safe.  “I know what you’re trying to find – and I can help you.”  She touched his skin again, pulling more words from his mind.  “Please.  Take me to the bunker.”  Her hand slipped from his arm, all of her energy expended, and she fell into unconsciousness.


	2. Awake

                When she woke, it was too sudden.  She was sleeping, just beneath the surface of consciousness, when a hand touched her.  Thoughts flashed through her, quicksilver images of her mangled flesh, of the two men trying to wrap her nearly naked body in their jackets and shirts.  Blood on every surface, skin gaping at seams that shouldn’t exist.  She jolted awake instantly, scrambling into a sitting position and pushing herself away from the hand that had touched her face.

                “Don’t touch me!” There was panic in her voice.  The green eyed man pulled his hand away from her, holding it up in the air.  She struggled to control her breathing, to push down the fear that was strangling her. 

                “Hey, it’s okay,” his voice was gentle.  “I won’t hurt you.  I was just moving your hair off the cuts on your face.”  He kept his hands up, showing her they were empty.  She swallowed, working to get a grip on herself.  She was shaking, pain rolling through her now, and she wasn’t sure she’d be able to sit up much longer.  “You’re safe here, with us,” he said.  “The demon who was torturing you is dead, remember?  I killed it, and then we brought you here.”

                “We?” she asked, hands gripping the sheets of the bed.  She was scanning the room, trying to see where she was.  It was an unfamiliar bedroom, very plain. 

                “Yeah, me and my brother, Sam.  Tall guy, long hair.”  He stepped back, toward the door.  “Sammy!  She’s awake.  You better come down here.”  He smiled at her, keeping his distance. 

                The pain was building now, and she could feel it all over her body, dull aches and sharp bites of it.  Her body throbbed from top to bottom.  And she could feel him too – his concern, his caution – all of it poured over her like water.  She was too weak, too unfocused, to keep his feelings at bay, and when he touched her they spread through her like wildfire.  Her body shook, the tension too much.  He saw it, and stepped toward her.

                “Hey, you have to lie back down,” he said, reaching out to her.  “Let me –”

                She cut him off, sharply.  “No!” He jerked his hand back, startled.  She sank back against the headboard, trying to gather herself.  “You can’t touch me.  I can’t –” She stopped, brokenly.  “I can’t handle it.”  He looked hurt.

                The other one came through the doorway then, hurriedly.  As he entered the room, his emotions pushing ahead of him, she cringed.  He saw her flinch and stopped.  “Dean?  What’s going on?”

                Dean shook his head.  “No idea.”  He looked at her.  “Listen, sweetheart, no one here is going to hurt you.  We’re just trying to help you.  You asked us to bring you here, remember?  But you’re pretty badly hurt, and if you don’t lie down and relax, you’re going to make it worse.”  He didn’t move.  She could see that he’d read her correctly; he knew that distance would be better for her.  She exhaled shakily, trying to force herself to relax.  She needed to focus, to concentrate, if she was going to lock down her connection to them.  She closed her eyes, just for a moment, and concentrated on one thing – her fingers.  She spread them out, feeling the stretch in the muscles there, the small tendons lengthening as she forced them wide.  She ignored the angry bruises on her knuckles and the bandages on her wrists. Letting herself feel the stretch, thinking about just her fingers, gave her enough presence of mind to shut down her panic and fear, and to block the feelings that emanated from the two men.  She opened her eyes again, looking at them.

                “Okay,” she said, her voice steadier.  “I’m okay.”

                The tall one, Sam, nodded.  “You do need to lie back,” he told her.  He brow wrinkled in concern.  “If you move too much, you’re going to open up all of your wounds.  Can I get a pillow to put behind you, if you don’t want to lie down?”  He held his hands up, like Dean had earlier, showing her they were empty. 

                She nodded.  “But…” Her voice was small, uncomfortable.  “You can’t touch me.”

                The two men exchanged a look.

                “I’ll explain, I promise,” she said.  “Just give me a chance to get things under control here.”

                Sam came toward her, picking up the pillows from the other side of the bed.  “Sit forward,” he told her, gently.  “I’ll slide these behind you.”  He put them in place and stepped back right away.  “Is that okay?”

                She nodded.

                “How are you feeling?”  Sam asked.

                She wasn’t sure how to answer that. “I hurt,” she admitted.  “All over.”

                “The demon carved you up pretty badly,” Dean told her.  “We stitched you up while you were out.”

                She shuddered.  “I think he broke some of my ribs.”

                Sam nodded.  “Your side is bruised,” he agreed.  “And there are welts all over your skin, besides the cuts.”

                “I know,” she said, struggling to find the words.  “He… he whipped me.  Just before you two arrived.”

                There was that look again, between the brothers.

                “We understand,” Sam said, his voice compassionate.  “We won’t touch you.  But you’re safe here.”

                She shook her head, a small movement.  She knew what they were thinking, why they thought she couldn’t stand their touch.  “That’s not it,” she told him.  “He didn’t… Look, I know you won’t hurt me.”  She could see their puzzled faces.  There was a long pause, an awkward silence where they all tried not to think about the demon who had hurt her, and what he could have done if he hadn’t been interrupted.

                “What’s your name?”  Dean asked her, trying to change the topic.

                “Elise,” she replied.  “Elise Black.”

                She could almost see Dean’s brain working, trying to figure out if he knew her. 

                “Elise,” he started, speaking carefully.  “You’re going to have to fill us in on a few things here.  When we found you, you were laughing at that demon and you said something to him that made it sound like you knew we were coming.”

                “I did know,” she said, quietly, but she didn’t elaborate.

                Dean pressed on.  “And then you knew my name.  You said you knew what we were looking for, and you told us to take you here, to the bunker.”  He paused, and they were both watching her.  “How did you know those things, Elise?”  His green eyes were serious.

                She sighed.  “I knew you were coming because I heard you.”

                “You heard us?” Sam asked.  “How could you hear us?”

                She looked at him then, and back at Dean.  “Not your voices, or your footsteps.  I heard you – your thoughts, as you came down the hall.  And when you touched me to let me down, I could hear even more.  That’s how I knew your name, Dean, and that you lived in a bunker.”  It was her turn to pause.  “I can hear people’s thoughts.”

                They stared at her.  She dropped her guard for a moment, pulling ideas from them both.  “No, Sam, it doesn’t work all the time.  And yes, Dean, I am for real.”  Now they exchanged another look, one that she could read without their thoughts.  “I’m not dangerous, or anything supernatural.  You can test me with whatever you want – salt, silver, holy water.  I can just hear things.”

                Dean was uncomfortable now.  “Well that’s just great,” he said.  “She can hear all our thoughts, Sammy.”

                Elise shook her head. “No, not all of them.  Usually I don’t hear anything, unless I’m trying to hear it.  I block it out, or else I can’t deal with the pressure.  I get people’s feelings more strongly than anything.  I get bits and pieces of thoughts, just little flashes of things, but if someone touches me – skin to skin contact – it’s like an open line.  I get images and full thoughts, sometimes their whole thought process, and it’s too much.”  
                “That’s why you don’t want us touching you,” Sam said, figuring it out.

                She nodded.  “When Dean touched my face, I could see everything, and he was thinking about me after you found me.  I saw my body, the cuts, the welts – and it startled me.”  She looked at Dean, and she saw his face shift.  His jaw clenched, and she knew he was seeing it again, seeing her strung up and bleeding, covered in red welts.  She didn’t need to read his mind to know that he hated seeing her that way.  She caught a fragment then, from him, something dark and buried deep, a flash of skin like hers, but it was somewhere else, somewhere in his past.  She tried to push the image off, to focus on the present.  She wished, desperately, that her body didn’t hurt so much.  She’d be much better equipped to hold off their thoughts if she didn’t have to work so hard at not crying out in pain.

                She could see the sympathy on Sam’s face, let alone feel the weight of it in her head.  “Why did the demon have you?” Sam asked.  “What was he trying to find out?”

                She shifted slightly on the bed and winced as the welts on her back and legs took her weight.  “Some demons found out about me, that I could read thoughts, and they figured that meant I’d know things.  This one found me and wanted some very specific information.”  She paused, trying to find her way through the story.  “You know what they wanted.  You’re looking for the same thing.”

                The brothers look at each other, quickly, then back to her.  “They know about the book?”  Dean’s question was to the point.

                “Yes,” she said.  “But I don’t think they have any idea where it is.” 

                “You think?” Dean asked.  “You don’t know?”

                “No,” she told him.  “I can’t read demons.  Most supernatural creatures are huge blind spots for me.  I can get thoughts from werewolves, unless it’s during the part of the lunar cycle where they’re on the verge of changing all the time, and vampires, but only when they’re recently fed.  When they’re hungry I can’t get anything other than a vague hum of emotion.  Witches are easy, actually – easier than humans – unless they learn to hide their thoughts.  That’s it, though.”

                “But you know where the book is?” Sam pressed, back to the topic.

                Elise nodded.  “Yeah.  I’d been tracking it for a while.  I was working with a friend, a hunter, to help him find the book.  We interviewed a ton of people, and while he asked questions I listened for hints about it.  It took almost a year, but we found the location and we dug up the book.  It’s hidden and warded so no one else can find it.”

                “And your friend?” Sam asked, but she could tell from his face that he knew the answer.

                “He and I split up after we dealt with the book.  We figured it would keep us safer.  We swore we’d die rather than give up the location.  The demons caught up with him about a month ago.” She paused, swallowing.  “He didn’t make it.”

                “I hate to ask,” Dean started, but she cut him off.

                “He didn’t tell them.  I checked.  We have electronic surveillance on the location, and it’s set to alert me if the doors are breached.  I couldn’t go and check, in case someone was following me.  But it’s all hidden.  If anyone hacked my email or phone, it’s just an alarm app for a house.  In reality, it’s a secured location with multiple layers of technology in place.”                 

                Dean looked at her carefully, as if deciding whether or not to trust her.  “Do you know what’s at stake here?” he asked.  “Do you know what’s in the book?”

                “I wouldn’t be willing to die for a cookbook, Dean,” she said.  “I know what’s in the book.  I’ve held it in my hands.  Do you know what it is, really?  Or are you just hunting it for your collection?”  She could see, in his mind, a room full of books like the one she’d hidden.

                He narrowed his eyes at her.  “Read my thoughts and find out,” he snapped.  His anger pushed at her, stronger than her reserve to stay behind her walls.  She flinched.

                “Dean,” Sam spoke up.  “Calm down.”  He looked at her carefully.  “We know the book has some powerful spells, and we know that demons are desperate for it.  We’re not sure why.”

                She sighed.  “It’s not a spell book, although they describe it that way.  It’s more like a master plan for demons, on how to take over Earth and use it as a leaping off point to annex Heaven.  It tells them, step by step, how to create massive amounts of demonized souls without the hundreds of years of suffering in Hell, and then how to use those demons to enslave and turn the rest of the human race.”  She shuddered.  “It’s illustrated, you know.  Pictures of how to expedite the process, drawn in human blood.”

                Sam exhaled.  “Jesus.”  They sat in silence for the moment. 

                Elise sagged against the pillows, her body weak.  She realized she was painfully thirsty, and wanted nothing more than to swallow a pharmacy’s worth of drugs and sleep for a week. 

                “Are you sure the book is safe?”  Dean’s question came unexpectedly.

                She nodded.  “Yes.  It’s in a warded box, locked inside a panic room, which is also warded.  The room is inside an apartment that has full time security personnel on the premises.  If anyone unlocks the door of the apartment, or breaks in through a window, the alarm company will immediately turn on cameras that record the entire apartment’s space, and I’ll be notified.  Also, there are devil’s traps everywhere, salt lines in place, and whatever else we could do to make the place secure.  The doorknobs are actually coated in a holy water solution that will stay in place forever, so if a demon so much as touches the doorknob innocently, they’ll be immediately repulsed.” 

                She could feel that they were impressed.  “You did all that?” 

                She smiled.  “With my friend.  Once we had the book we knew it had to be protected at all costs.  We did the research and found a way.”  She paused.  “We, uh, did have to steal the identity of a paranoid old guy at a senior’s home a few states over.  He was rich enough to bankroll the apartment and panic room, and he was senile enough that he wouldn’t notice the money being spent.  We made sure he had no one to take care of before we started siphoning off his money.  He’s dead now, but we found a way to move his money into a permanent trust to pay for the apartment.  And since we was a panic-room type of guy before he lost touch with reality, his bank and lawyers never questioned how his money was being spent.”  She looked at the two men sheepishly.  “I feel guilty about that part. I leave flowers at his grave whenever I get a chance.”

                Sam smiled at her, gently.  He was ready to accept her.  His feelings were like warm waves at the edge of the ocean, just lapping against her gently.  But Dean was another story.  He didn’t trust her, not yet, and he was extremely uncomfortable with her abilities.  Which she knew, of course, because of her abilities.  Pain seeped through the wall she’d put herself behind, letting in scraps of their feelings and thoughts.  She needed to get a handle on this, on her pain, so that she could lock it down more securely.  She stretched her fingers again, staring at them, trying to concentrate.

                Dean noticed her actions.  “What are you doing?”  He was blunt with her, blunt with his lack of trust.

                She sighed.  It was just as well to be truthful.  “Trying to control myself,” she answered.  “I’m having a hard time keeping out of your thoughts.”  She could almost see Dean recoil, and even Sam looked slightly anxious.  “Usually it’s easy.  But right now I’m struggling, because of how I feel.”

                Sam started to reach for her, but then caught himself.  “Sorry,” he apologized, “you must be tired and have a lot going on.  We should let you rest.”

                Dean cut in, looking at Elise’s face carefully.  “It’s not that,” he told Sam, without looking at him.  “How bad is the pain?” 

                “On a scale of 1-10?” she asked, with a bitter laugh.  “About a nine.”

                “Why didn’t you say something?” he demanded, angrily.

                “Bigger fish,” she answered.  She tried to shift on the bed, but grimaced.  Her skin throbbed and pulsed, and every time she breathed, her ribs felt like they were cracking over again.  The longer she was awake, the worse it seemed to get. 

                Dean stomped out of the room.  His anger and discomfort left with him, giving her a respite.  With only one set of feelings to filter, she could relax a little.  “Elise,” Sam said, “you’re safe here with us.  You’ll need some time to recover, and once you’ve slept some more, we can talk about the book.”  She nodded, letting her eyes close for a moment.  “But if you’re not okay, you should tell us.”

                Dean came back then.  She could feel him before she saw him, and she flinched.  She’d been wrong before – she’d thought he was angry at her, but there was something else in his head, something that directed the anger.  “Here,” he said roughly, opening a bottle and tipping pills into his hand.  “Take these.”

                She looked at him, at the pills in his hand, and shook her head.  “I… I can’t,” she said.

                “Why the hell not?” 

                “What are they?” she asked, knowing the answer, having heard it in his head already.

                “Painkillers.  Good ones.”

                She shook her head, wincing again.  God, she would love to take them.  The pain was getting much worse.  Breathing was becoming unbearable.  “If – if I take them, I’ll lose all my filters.  Pain meds do something to me.  I’ll feel better, but I’ll hear everything.  I won’t be able to stay out of your heads at all.  And I probably won’t be able to stop myself from telling you things I hear.  Pain killers, even the weak ones, all make me lose control of my abilities.”  She looked at him, her eyes full of pain.  She couldn’t do that to them, two strangers who’d rescued her. 

                Sam and Dean exchanged a look.  She had a feeling they did that a lot; the two of them seemed to have entire conversations without speaking.  Dean turned back to her, pills in hand.  “Take them anyway,” he told her.  “We don’t care if you end up in our heads.”

                She shook her head, tried to argue.  He cut her off.  “I can’t watch you like this.  You can’t even breathe,” he pointed out as her breath hitched and caught, and a little whimper escaped her.  “Just take the damn pills.” His hand hovered above her chest, outstretched, ready to drop them.  Sam picked up the glass of water that had been on the bedside table, passing it to her. 

                “Are you sure?” Her voice was almost a whisper.    
                “Yes.”  Dean wasn’t interested in a discussion.  He was done waiting.  He reached down, picked up her hand, turned it palm up, and dropped the pills there.  She had a flash of him, of his need to take care of her, of him thinking how awful she looked, and then he released her hand.   Sam held out the water, careful to keep his fingers clear of hers, and she took the glass.  She swallowed the pills, quickly, and Sam took the glass again.  “I’m leaving the bottle here,” Dean told her.  “Keep taking them when you need them.” 

                She heard a phone ring in the distance.  “Better get that,” Sam said, moving toward the door.  “It might be Cas.  Dean, help her lie back down before you leave.”  He smiled at Elise and left the room.

                “You need a hand?” Dean’s voice was gruff. 

                She wanted to say no.  She wanted to tell him she was fine, to let him leave, and then to stay in that same position until the drugs kicked in and she could relax.  But she hurt too much to stay sitting up, and she hurt too much to move on her own. 

                “Yeah,” she admitted.  “If you could grab the pillows from behind me, I could lie back down.  Would you mind?”

                He shook his head, stepping closer.  He reached for the pillows, ready to tug them out when she sat forward.  She’d been able to do it earlier, easily – she’d been full of adrenaline from the way she’d woken up, and that had gotten her through the pain.  Now, though, she was struggling to lean forward. 

                Dean huffed at her, and got closer.  He put one knee on the bed, leaning in toward her.  “Just let me help, okay?”  She looked at him, worried.  “You just told me that you’ll hear everything soon, right?  What difference does it make if I touch you now?”  She didn’t relax.  “I’ll think of something good for you, alright?  You look for that while I help you out.”  She nodded.  He slid one hand behind her, his hand spreading across her back.  “Okay?” he asked.  She breathed shallowly, trying to keep from crying out, as he helped her tilt forward a little. She reached up and grabbed his shoulder with her right hand, and her left hand found his forearm. 

                As soon as she touched his skin, the images began to flash through her.  A car, shiny and black, and Dean washing it to make it gleam.  The car sailing down a highway, trees flashing by.  A much younger Sam sitting next to him in the passenger seat, asleep, and Dean tucking a plastic spoon in his mouth to wake him up.  Dean laughing.  The leather seats warm in the sun, classic rock on the radio.  Dean’s face, with green eyes that laughed and crinkled, in the rearview mirror. 

                And then he let go.  She was lying flat on her back in the bed.  He’d moved her quickly, letting her slide through his memories, avoiding the pain her body felt.  She gasped at the sudden exit from his happy thoughts, from the car and the smiles, and at the resurgence of pain in her body.  He stood over her, a worried expression on her face. 

                “I’m fine,” she told him, shaking off the shock.  “I was just surprised when I popped out of your thoughts.”

                “What did you see?” he asked, clearly curious.

                “A car,” she said.  “A classic car, I think?  Black and perfect.  You and Sam on the road, when you were younger.  You were playing a prank on him.”  Dean smiled then, remembering it for himself.  “Is that what you wanted me to see?” she asked.

                “Yeah.  That was when Sammy and I started hunting together again,” he said, more to himself than to her. 

                She smiled at him.  “Thanks for that, Dean.  I didn’t even feel the pain of moving.”

                He shrugged off her thanks.  “Not a problem,” he said.  He glanced at his watch then.  “It’s 3 P.M., so you can’t take any more of those pills until at least 9.  I’ll leave your door open.  If you need anything, just call out to us.  We’ll come back and check on you from time to time.”  He looked at the doorway.  “You should sleep.  It’s the best thing for you right now.”

                She yawned then, as if on cue. 

                Dean crossed to the door and flicked off the light.  “Sleep tight,” he said, leaving the room.  As he did, she caught another flicker from him, an image of Sam as a little boy, of Dean saying “sleep tight” to him the same way he’d just said it to her.  She felt Dean’s concern, for Sam, for her, and she sank into it easily.

                The drugs had definitely started to work.


	3. Recovery

                 The next few hours were interesting, to say the least.  Elise drifted in and out of consciousness, prodded to some kind of alertness whenever Dean or Sam came close to her.  When Sam came down the hallway, stopping at her door to check on her, she woke up immediately.  She smiled dopily at him.

                “How are you feeling?” he asked, returning her smile. 

                “Good,” she said, slowly.  “Much less pain.” 

                He nodded.  “Do you need anything?”  Images flashed through her, straight from his thoughts.  He was worrying about what she might need, and he saw himself doing those things for her – bringing a glass of water, lifting her in his arms to carry her places, feeding her soup.  She giggled.

                “Not tomato,” she laughed toward him.  “I hate tomato soup.”  His face registered shock, and just as quickly the next thought flew into her mind.  It was Dean, young and adorable, pushing a bowl of soup across to Sam, saying “Eat mine, Sammy, I hate tomato soup.”  In Sam’s memory, small hands that must have been his own pushed an empty bowl aside and reached for Dean’s bowl.

                “He took care of you,” she said, floating along on Sam’s feelings.  He loved Dean, trusted him implicitly.  She giggled again.  “Dean was such a cute kid with all those freckles.” 

                Sam still looked shocked, but he smiled.  “Don’t let him hear you say that.”  He paused.  “You should sleep some more, Elise.  Call out if you need anything.”

                She closed her eyes, but before Sam could leave another memory floated between them.  A man, tall and broad shouldered, with dark hair and serious eyes, standing in a doorway, framed in light.  “You boys stay in the room,” he intoned, “and Dean, take care of your brother.  Call me or Bobby if you need anything.”  He smiled, sadly, and closed the door, and then the young Dean of Sam’s memory crossed to the door to bolt it.  Sam’s memory was tinged with need, with want, with the desire to have this man – his father, she realized – stay with them.  She let out a small sound, a soft “oh,” realizing how empty Sam felt when he left. 

                And then she drifted back to sleep, as Sam’s thoughts drifted away from her, down the hall.

 

 

                Sam came back again, in a few hours, to check on her.  He came into the room quietly, but she heard him nonetheless – his thoughts were loud to her, like someone yelling.  She opened her eyes to find him standing above her with a glass of water.

                “Did I wake you?” he asked, concerned. 

                Elise wasn’t sure if he’d woken her or not; things were kind of fuzzy for her right now.  She shrugged.  Sam smiled at her, trying to figure out how to talk to her when she was like this. 

                “Don’t worry about me, Sam,” she told him.  “Just say it, since I’m going to hear it anyway, even if you don’t.” 

                He laid the glass of water on the table by the bed. “I was wondering,” he started, hesitantly, “if you need to go to the bathroom or anything.”  He flushed red, and she giggled, unable to help herself.  “I could help you.”  Sam was desperately trying not to think of the things girls do in the bathroom, of her naked, god forbid.  “I thought you might want to wash your face or something.”

                He was incredibly considerate, and now that he’d mentioned it, she could use a trip to the ladies’ room.  “It’s probably a good idea,” she agreed.  His thoughts had moved to the layout of the bunker, of how far she’d have to go.  It wasn’t far, but she felt so wrecked that it would probably seem like a marathon.  Thank goodness for the drugs Dean had given her.  Otherwise she probably couldn't move well enough to get there.

                She struggled to sit up.  Sam saw her and stepped in to help her, reaching out to put his hands on her shoulders.  His thumbs brushed the bare skin at her neck, and a flood of images raced through her.  Dean, lying in a hospital bed, looking like death, arguing with Sam about finding a cure.  She could feel Sam’s desperation, his need to help his brother, and how her situation was reminding him of that time.  “What happened to Dean?” she murmured, holding onto Sam’s arm, stopping him. 

                Sam said just a few words.  “We were hunting and he was electrocuted.  He should have died, but we found a cure.”  He didn’t tell her the whole story, but she saw it in images in his head – the tent, the faith healer, his wife, the reaper she’d bound.  The memory was fast and laced with emotions.  Sam’s fear of losing Dean was the heaviest, his guilt at the deaths of the others came next, and it was under laid with the happiness he felt when Dean was healed. 

                “Oh, Sam,” she breathed. 

                He shook his head.  “It was a long time ago.”  He helped her sit up, guiding her to turn and swing her legs over the edge of the bed.  They were bare.  Her pants had been too bloody and messy to put back on. 

                The images of Dean’s near-death experience kept coming to her.  She saw the pretty blond girl that they couldn’t save, and Dean’s face when they left her behind, knowing that she’d die.  She saw Sam and Dean in the car, driving away, weighed down by the knowledge that Dean lived at the expense of someone else.  “Can you stand?” Sam asked, trying to focus. 

                She looked at her hands, trying to shake off Sam’s thoughts.  She tried the trick that had worked for her earlier, stretching her fingers, concentrating on the feelings in those muscles.  This time, though, under that, she could still hear Sam thinking.  She shook her head. 

                “I’ll try,” she told him.  He reached out to help her, but she held up a hand in warning.  “I can’t keep your thoughts out, Sam,” she told him.  “I saw that whole story – and I know exactly how you felt.”  He looked at her with sad eyes.  “You should choose a happy memory, like a story that you’d like to tell me, and think about that, so that I won’t hear things you’d like to keep private.”  She giggled.  “When Dean touched me earlier, he showed me a prank he played on you.”

                Sam’s eyebrows shot up.  “He did?”

                She nodded.  “You were in the car and he stuck a spoon in your mouth.”

                “He’s a jerk.  He does stuff like that all the time.”

                She shifted her weight forward, starting to stand up.  Sam put an arm around her, steadying her.  At the same time, he started to think of the pranks he and Dean had played on each other.  She saw the car radio unexpectedly loud, felt Sam’s irritation about the itching powder Dean dumped in his shorts.  She took a few steps, leaning heavily on Sam, giggling at the expression on Dean’s face in Sam’s memory. 

                “You guys have had a lot of fun together,” she observed.  Sam had glued a beer bottle to Dean’s hand, and Dean’s face was priceless. 

                “We do,” he said, smiling at the memory.

                She took another step, but her wobbly legs had already run out of steam.  She started to fall.  Sam caught her, easily, and swept her up into his arms.  His muscular arm pressed against her bare legs.  “Okay, too much laughing for you,” he said. 

                “I don’t think the laughing is the problem,” she replied.  “Might be the demon torture instead.” She suddenly felt the pain of her injuries, especially her ribs where they pressed against Sam’s hand. 

                She saw herself then, through Sam’s eyes.  He was trying not to think about it, but for a moment she saw her body, unconscious and bloody, while Sam’s hands stitched up long cuts.  She shuddered in his arms. 

                “Sorry,” he mumbled, knowing what she’d seen.

                “Think of something else happy,” she asked, suddenly feeling the ache in her ribs.  “Think of something fun you did with Dean when you were kids.”

                Sam’s memories began to flip past her then, like pages in a photo album.  He briefly thought of one thing, then another, before landing on a summer night.  Dean was a teenager, and he was much taller than Sam, judging by the point of view in the image.  Through Sam’s eyes, she saw a grassy field, somewhere isolated, and she saw firework after firework, set off by the two brothers.  Sam laughed and laughed, and Dean smiled indulgently, calling him kid and ruffling his hair.  Elise relaxed into this memory, the warm feeling of their relationship numbing her pain.  She stayed in that warm memory until Sam entered the bathroom.

                “Uh…” Sam paused, trying to figure out what to do. 

                “Maybe you could just put me down on the edge of the tub,” she said, trying to be tactful.  “I’ll manage from there.” Sam was skeptical.  He was imagining her falling and hitting her head.  “Don’t be so dramatic, Sam.”  He looked at her.  “I’ll be sitting down.  It’ll be fine.”

                He set her down, making sure she was upright and stable.  “I’ll just be outside,” he told her.  “Call out when you’re done, or if you need help.”  He reached beneath the sink and handed her some towels. 

                “I wish I had some clean clothes,” she said, mournfully. Hers were ripped and bloody in places.  Sam and Dean had put her in one of their shirts, but her bra and underwear, which was all she’d been wearing when they found her, were stiff with blood.  She plucked at the strap of her bra, inspecting it.

                Sam blushed.  “I, uh, can get you a shirt,” he said. 

                She looked up at him, hopeful.  “Can I borrow your boxers?”  He turned a brighter red, and she saw it in his mind, her frame swimming in his shorts and shirts.  She giggled.  God, these drugs – they turned her into someone entirely different.  She’d never giggled this much in her life. 

                “I’ll go find something for you,” he promised, desperate to get out of the room for a minute.  “You go ahead.”  He bolted from the room, leaving the door slightly ajar.   
                Slowly, she worked her way out of the v-neck shirt.  Pulling off her bra was awkward, but she managed, and then she shimmied out of her panties.  She wet the washcloth in the sink, glad she could reach it from where she was sitting, and used it to wash off her face and neck, then the rest of her body as best she could.  She avoided the most painful areas, and the worst scars, concentrating on making herself feel better.  Grabbing the sink, she pulled herself to a standing position, then took care of the other necessities.  Washing her hands, she wrapped herself in the towel Sam had given her, and lowered herself to the side of the tub again.  She closed her eyes, already exhausted, and listened for Sam.

                He was back before long.  “Elise?  Are you, uh, decent?”

                She smiled.  He was still trying not to picture her in his clothes.  Or a towel.  “Yeah, I’m all covered.”

  
                He pushed the door open.  “I found you these,” he said, pushing clothes toward her.  “I shrunk some of Dean’s stuff in the wash a while ago, and he hadn’t thrown it out.  They’ll fit better than my clothes.”  He handed her a pair of shorts and another t-shirt.  “I’ll just go back outside and let you get dressed.”

                She pulled the t-shirt over her head, and thankfully the material was super soft.  She slid the boxers up her legs, then called out to Sam again, trying to ignore his thoughts.  He was currently imagining folding laundry; she was pretty sure it was an attempt to not picture her getting dressed.  The clothes were a little too big, but she’d make do.  “I’m done, Sam,” she said.  He opened the door again. 

                “Ready to head back?” He held his arms out.  He was thinking this was probably a lot for her.

                “It is,” she agreed, answering the question in his head, not the one he’d asked.  He was startled.  He hadn’t quite gotten used to her yet.  “Sorry,” she apologized. 

  
                “It’s okay,” he told her.  He reached down and lifted her, easily it seemed.  Immediately the vivid images began again.  “How does it work for you?” he asked.  “If I’m talking to you, and I’m touching you, like now, which do you hear?”

                Sam was picturing himself and Dean, sitting by a lake, drinking beer and wearing sunglasses.  “Both,” she said.  “Simple stuff is easy to keep straight.  If you were trying to work out complicated math in your head, I’d have a hard time following any kind of conversation and that simultaneously.”  They were still sitting by the water.  Dean had just grabbed them both another beer.  “Right now I can’t stop myself from seeing your memories, especially since we’re touching.  When I’m not like this it’s easier.”

                Sam nodded.  He laid her back on the bed, making sure she was settled.  “It’s got to be weird,” he said.  “Hearing it all.”

                “Sometimes it’s disturbing,” she said.  “People are seriously screwed up.  But it’s good too – I know who’s a creep pretty quick, so I can avoid them.”  She lay back into the pillows.  “Also if you need to tell me something, you can think it at me and I can just hear it, which is handy from time to time.”  She grinned widely.  “Great for playing poker.” 

                Sam laughed.  “Don’t tell Dean that,” he said.  “When you feel better, we’ll play cards.”

                She laughed, genuinely relaxed with Sam.  Her eyes were already beginning to feel heavy again.  He leaned in and pulled the blankets up over her.  “I’ll check back on you later,” he said. 

                “Thanks, Sam,” she said, softly. 

                “No problem.”  He left the room, taking his thoughts with him.  She drifted in the silence, not quite asleep yet, thinking about the two men, sitting by a lake, relaxed and peaceful.  She figured that didn’t happen much for them; it certainly didn’t for her.  Maybe when she recovered, when the stupid book – and the other thing, the thing she hadn’t told them about – was safely handled, then she could take a vacation. 

                She felt Dean’s presence before she heard him.  He walked quietly, a habit from years of hunting.  But his thoughts weren’t quiet at all.  They were chaotic, jumbled, full of worry.  She opened her eyes.

                “How’re you feeling?” His words were crisp. 

                “Better,” she said.  “A lot less pain.”

  
                “Good.”  He paused, trying to find the words.  He didn’t want to hurt her, to offend her, but he was so uncomfortable with her.  On one hand, he wanted to help her.  On the other hand, he wanted to stay the hell away from her mind-reading weirdness. 

                “I can’t help the weirdness,” she answered, without even realizing she was doing it.  “Unless I don’t take the drugs.  I can stop taking them,” she offered. 

                Dean blanched.  His thoughts shifted, away from her, to Sam in a hospital bed and a desperate need to fix him.  He shook his head.  “No,” he was firm.  “It’s not your problem.  It’s mine.” 

                She closed her eyes, seeing Sam again, lying against a white sheet, face bloodless and dead looking.  She shuddered, and Dean realized what she was seeing.  “Christ,” he muttered.  “Sorry.” 

                “It’s okay,” she said.  “You can’t help it any more than I can.”

                He stepped closer.  “Yes I can.”  He was determined.  He reached for her hand.  “Can I?”

                She nodded. 

                “Close your eyes,” he said.  “Try to sleep.” He sat on the edge of the bed, placing his hand on hers.  Immediately his thoughts were crystal clear.  He was trying to share with her, which made things sharper, more focussed.  He was showing her Sam as a teenager, all long limbs and floppy hair, sitting in the driver’s seat of the black car.  He was laughing, smiling at Dean, happy to be driving.  Dean was teasing him, telling him he’d be able to take girls out on dates now, drive them around town and make out with them, and Sam was embarrassed by Dean’s teasing.  She smiled, finding herself comfortable in this memory, in the teasing and banter between the brothers. 

                Dean released her hand, standing up from the edge of the bed.  She opened her eyes.  “Thank you, Dean.”

                “Go to sleep, now.” He was gruff.  “Shout if you need anything.” He left the room, and she was alone, with only her own thoughts and memories.


	4. Two-Way Radio

                The next time she woke, it was because Dean was in the room next to hers.  She didn’t know how long she’d been asleep, and she didn’t know what he was doing, but she could feel him nearby.  He was frustrated, blaming himself for something that had gone wrong.  She could feel the weight of his irritation and self-loathing, but he wasn’t exactly thinking of what had happened, so she couldn’t tell what it was.  She did know, through her drug-induced state, that his feelings were making her uncomfortable.

                “Dean?” she called out quietly.  She heard a pause, then footsteps.  He appeared in the doorway. 

                “Yeah?” His voice was gruff this time.

                Normally she wouldn’t be so forward, but with the drugs, she had limited ability to keep her thoughts to herself.  “What’s the matter?”

                “Nothing.”  He didn’t look at her, just scanned the room.  It didn’t matter though – her question had tipped his thoughts in the direction she needed.  They flooded her now, letting her know the whole story.  He’d fought with Sam – about her.  Sam had told him that he thought they should let the book stay where it is.  Dean thought they should pick it up and bring it to the bunker.  They had different opinions about how to handle her as well; Sam wanted to keep her here, to learn from her, but Dean felt like it would be safer to hide her away.  Dean was worried that something would come for her again – and that it would succeed where the demon had failed.  He was thinking of someone else, someone he’d failed to protect.  A girl with red hair, young and smiling, then dead and bloody, and Dean couldn’t forgive himself for that loss.

                They had argued, and Dean had yelled at Sam.  She saw Sam, though Dean’s thoughts, looking angry and sad, and she felt Dean’s disappointment in himself, that he’d let himself yell at Sam again.  She exhaled, slowly.

                “You don’t have to protect me,” she said.  “And if you really want the book, I’ll give it to you, Dean.”  She went on, oblivious to Dean’s expression.  “Sam loves you.  He can deal with you yelling.  You’re being way too hard on yourself.”  She knew she was like the rambling drunk at a party, the one who can’t stop talking.  Words just kept coming.  She smiled, remembering Sam’s memory.  “His thoughts of you as a kid are all warm and comfy.  There’s, like, a golden glow whenever you’re in his mind.”

                She looked at Dean then, noticing his expression.  He was horrified.  She heard his thoughts, loud and clear.  He was afraid of what she could hear in his mind, of how exposed he felt when she picked his thoughts out of his stream of consciousness.  She spoke again.

                “I’m sorry,” she said quickly, tongue tangled by the awkwardness between them.  “I can’t help it.”

                Dean shook his head.  “This is too weird.”

                “I know,” she said, her voice small.  “It’s the drugs you gave me.  They’re strong, so I’m less in control than ever.”  She answered his next thought before he spoke it.  “Yes, booze can do this to me as well.  I’m a fun drunk as long as you don’t have any secrets to hide.”

                He leaned against the wall.  Despite his discomfort, he couldn’t yell at someone who was as damaged as she was, and on top of that, he was curious about her.  “What’s it like?”  She heard him think that this was the best chance he had to get the truth out of her.  He was probably right.  She felt too loopy to keep information straight, so lying would be impossible.

                “Like having a TV show or a radio station on in the background all the time,” she said, “and trying to study something else.  Or two radio stations, when you and Sam are both here.”  She giggled.  “Yours is classic rock and his is talk radio.”  Dean smiled at that.  He was thinking that he liked it when she laughed that way.  “I can block it out when I try, so most of the time I can mute it or reduce it to background noise.  But now it’s like the radio is on so loud that I can’t hear myself think.”  Right now, Dean was picturing himself in his car, ACDC blasting through the speakers. “Yeah, like that,” she agreed.

                In Dean’s head Sam reached for the volume button, but Dean pushed his hand away.  “Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole,” she recited to him as he thought the words.  And then she giggled - again.  “I can’t shut my cakehole, Dean,” she told him.  “What kind of painkillers did you give me, anyway?”

                “Percocet,” he told her, and she could see that he’d picked them up in a hospital when he’d gone in for some broken ribs.  She felt the flash of pain in her own ribs then. 

                Dean looked at the clock and walked further into the room, reaching for the bottle of pills.  He popped the cap, pouring the tabs into his palm.  “It’s actually time for more of these now,” he said.  “It’s been hours, and I saw the look on your face a minute ago.  Take them before all the pain comes back.”  He was trying not to picture her hanging from the cuffs, but the image shot through him, and her, for just a moment. She tried not to see anything else.  “Funny that you’re still giggly and stoned, but the painkiller part is wearing off.”

                “I told you, drugs are weird for me,” she explained.  “They don’t work the way they do for other people.”  She smiled ruefully.  “The pain will come back, but I’ll still be like this for a while, not quite able to filter out thoughts. It’s like my brain has a lower tolerance for medication than my body does.”

                She started to sit up, but as soon as she moved she was very aware that she needed more painkillers.  Her hands shifted to her ribs. Dean sighed and put the cap back on the bottle of pills, laying it aside.  “C’mere,” he said, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. 

                Elise held her hand out to stop him before he could touch her.  “No,” she warned him.  “It’ll be much stronger now if you touch me,” she said.  “Like, um,” she searched for a way to explain it, “like a one-way Vulcan mind meld.”  Dean’s eyebrow quirked upward.  “Don’t pretend you don’t watch Star Trek, Dean.”

                “What will you see?” he asked.

                “Everything,” she told him.  “Or pretty close to it.  Whatever you’re thinking will probably come through to me easily. If you’re thinking about your social security number, I’ll get it clearly enough that I could steal your identity.”

                He stopped a moment, then reached for her.  “Whatever,” he said.  “I’ll do what I did last time,” he said.  “Happy thoughts.”  He slid a hand behind her neck, ready to help her sit up.  As soon as he touched her skin, his thoughts engulfed her.  This time, he was a teenager, and Sam was there too, but he was still a kid, maybe 11 or 12.  They were together in the woods, with two rifles, and they’d set up a shooting range in a clearing.  Dean was watching Sam shoot, carefully keeping an eye on his stance and hold, making sure he was safe with the weapon he held.  Sam was nailing the targets, one after the other, like a professional marksman.  Dean was full of pride, happy that his kid brother was a natural. He was thinking, in his memory, that his Dad would be proud too, and that, when he got back and found out how well Sam was shooting, he’d tell Dean what a good job he’d done teaching Sam.  And then, Sam lowered the rifle, turning to Dean, with a huge smile on his face.  “How’d I do, Dean?” he asked, and Dean’s teenage voice offered praise.  “Good job, kid.  You’re as good as I am.”  Sam’s face lit up in happiness. 

                She swam in the pleasant memory as Dean helped her sit up, propping her back against his side, passing her the pills and the glass of water.  Her hand shook, and Dean steadied it, shooting another memory through her – this time not one he’d chosen for her, but one that occurred naturally.  Sam was older in this memory, close to his current age, and his hands shook as they reached for a blade.  He was weak and sick and trembling, and Dean felt mildly panicked looking at him, realizing, for the first time, that whatever they were doing might kill Sam.  Elise gasped and tried to lean away from Dean. 

                “Shit,” he cursed, realizing that she’d seen his thoughts.  He scrambled to lean away from her, to help her lie back down.  More images flashed in his mind, unbidden, travelling quickly to her.  She saw his father, dead on the floor of a hospital room, another older man lying in a hospital bed, head wrapped in bandages.  She saw others, dead and dying and hurt, and with each one, she felt the squeeze of Dean’s guilt.  _But none of this is your fault,_ she thought, unable to say the words.  _You can’t save everyone._

                This time, it was Dean who breathed sharply, releasing her quickly when he got up from the bed, his whole body stiffening.  “How - ” He started brokenly.  “How did you do that?”

                She caught her breath, releasing his guilt from her hold.  “Do what?  I told you, the drugs take away my filters so I see everything.”             

                “But I heard you,” Dean said.  “I heard you.  _In my head_.”

                She blinked at him, confused.  His green eyes were sharp, watching her closely.  “I didn’t say anything.”  
                “You thought it,” he said.  “You thought it at me.  And I heard it.”  She went to shake her head.  “You thought all those dead people, all the people who got hurt because of me, you thought they weren’t my fault.  You thought the words ‘You can’t save everyone.’”

                She stared at him.  “I don’t…”  She couldn’t find words, because she didn’t know.

                Dean was already thinking about the research, picturing himself and Sam at long tables with piles of books and laptop computers.  If he had been concerned about her abilities before, now he was outright disturbed.  He backed toward the door.  “I’m, uh, going to let you sleep.  Let me know if you need anything.”  His mind raced over an image of her, her face confused, as he backed out of the room. 

                She lay there for a minute, listening to Dean’s footsteps recede.  What had happened?  Was it the drugs?  Was it him?  Had it even really happened?  Or had they just been tricked by their senses, so that she had spoken aloud and neither of them realized it?  She was completely confused.  She was also completely high on painkillers, and she knew she couldn’t figure it out now.  She closed her eyes, replaying the memory of Sam and Dean in the woods, happily shooting targets.  She drifted off to sleep with their laughter in her mind.


	5. Angels & Demons

                Dean was avoiding her.

                She couldn’t blame him, really.  She’d been there for a few days now, and they were still insisting she take the drugs they’d given her.  She was healing, but still a mess, and she’d been drifting through their thoughts, especially Sam’s, all that time.  For the tenth time, she told Sam they should both stay away from her for a few days, let her sleep and heal, and then she could be on her way.  “Not an option,” Sam said, smiling at her, thinking about the book and the demons and angels, worrying about how awful she looked.  “I don’t care what you see or hear in my head.”

                She tried to return his smile, but she was already wrapped up in his thought process.  Sam was a sensitive guy, and he was more than a little bothered by the state of her body.  He was thinking that if Cas could come by, he’d be able to help her out.

                “Who’s Cas?” she asked, curiosity and the drugs getting the better of her.  Normally, she’d stop herself from hearing his thoughts, and if she happened to overhear by accident, she’d stop herself from letting on that she’d heard.  She had no such inhibitions right now.

                Sam was still startled when she did that.  “Uh, Cas – Castiel - is a friend of ours,” he answered.  She plucked an image of his face from Sam’s thoughts.  Bright blue eyes, messy hair, trench coat… and something else, something extra.  “He’s an angel.”

                Elise’s eyebrows shot up.  “Angel?  Really?”

                “Yeah,” Sam answered.  “He can heal people, which is why I was thinking about him.  If he was around he’d be able to fix your body for you.  He’s busy right now, though, and we haven’t heard from him in a few days.”

                Elise was listening to Sam, but at the same time she was sifting through his thought process.  Sam’s picture of Cas was bright and vivid, full of action and purpose.  He was searching for someone, it seemed, and he had a partner.  “What’s he looking for?”

                Sam sighed.  “Long story.”  Images began to flash through his brain as he decided how to best tell her the parts she needed.  As he spoke, telling her the basic truths of the near miss they’d experienced, she saw a cloud of black smoke and a woman in a long black dress. There was Cas, who was also, curiously, not Cas, a powerful man with a beard, a red-haired witch, a demon in a suit, and last, Dean – Dean, whose face confirmed the truth that was behind the images.  The world had nearly ended, God and his sister had done battle, Lucifer had walked the Earth in Castiel’s vessel, and Dean had been willing to die for them all.  “At the end,” Sam finished, “God and Amara left, but Lucifer’s still out there somewhere, unchecked.  Cas is working with Crowley to find him.”

                Alarm bells went off in Elise’s mind.  “Crowley?”

                “Yeah, the King of Hell, Crowley,” Sam said. 

                The color drained from her face.  “Are you friends with him?” Her voice was cold, remote.

                “Not really,” Sam answered, picking up the change in her tone.  “Why?”

                Elise swung her legs over the side of the bed and went to stand up.  Sam moved as if to grab her, and she flinched.  He held his hands up.  “What’s the matter?”

                Dean walked by then.  Seeing Elise on her feet and Sam with his hands up, as if in surrender, he stepped into the room.  “What the hell is going on here?”  He was on the defensive already, thinking about the gun in his waistband, just in case.

                She was angry now.  “You’re friends with Cas, who’s working with Crowley.  Remember the demon who was carving me like a ham?” She paused to watch their faces, to listen carefully to their reactions.  She needed to know who their alliance was with.  “He said the name of his boss a few times.  He called it in.”  Dean and Sam both made the connection, and she felt the tension in the room ratchet even tighter.  “He worked for Crowley.  He wanted the book for Crowley.”  She scanned the room, looking for her clothes, struggling to keep her own thoughts from spilling out while Sam and Dean’s pushed into her head.  “Where are my things?”  She needed a gun, she thought, or her blade – something to protect herself.  She couldn’t trust these guys, no matter how good they seemed, if they were working with Crowley. 

                “Whoa, hang on there,” Dean said, stepping toward her. His hand was out, reaching for her.  She jerked away from him, feeling pain lance through her ribs.  _Get used to it,_ she thought.  _No more drugs – you’re off your game._ “Seriously, Elise – just stop.  You can’t go anywhere.  Look at yourself!”

                “Are you working with him?” she shouted, angry now.  “Was this the plan all along?  Save me from the demon, bring me here, make friends with me, and get me to give you everything?”  Dean stared at her, open-mouthed.  “That’s why you want me to bring the book here, isn’t it? So that you can hand it right over.  It’s not happening.”  Her voice was cold, hard. 

                Sam tried to reason with her.  “We didn’t know that it was Crowley hunting for the book.”

                “Oh sure!” she yelled, not giving him much of a chance.  “Just let me get to trust you, show me all the good memories you have, make me feel safe with you, and then as soon as I turn over the book, what?  Kill me?”  She swayed on her feet, angry but determined to stay standing. 

                At this point, Dean lost his shit.  “Are you kidding me?”  He shouted back at her.  “You honestly think that?  You’ve been inside our heads for a couple of days now.  You really think we’d do that?”  His green eyes blazed at her, his jaw set in anger.  He whipped the gun from the back of his pants, reversing it and pushing the handle towards her.  “We’re going to solve this now.  Ask me anything – about Cas, about Crowley, about the book – and touch me while you do it.  You’ll see the truth, right?  I can’t lie to you?”  She nodded, teeth clenched.  He reached with the gun.  “You see something that proves that we’re in league with Crowley on this one, you shoot me.”  He shoved the gun into her hand. 

                She swallowed, but she took the gun and levelled it at him.  He thrust his hand toward her, palm up.  She laid her own hand on top of his, bare skin connecting, his calloused fingers wrapping warmly around her hand, and the flood of images began.  She didn’t even have to ask anything to get things started; the memories flooded through him.  She saw Crowley the first time they met, she saw him try to kill them, and them trying to kill Crowley – over and over.  She saw a lengthy struggle to control stone tablets, and the teenage boy around whom the battle rotated.  Dean remembered being his cohort, working with him, and she realized, with a jolt, that Dean had spent time as a demon. Not just any demon either – a powerful one, who stood beside Crowley and been his equal.  She saw the Winchesters, along with Cas and the red-haired witch and the scruffy guy, working together against the force Sam had remembered.  Dean showed her dozens of interactions with the demon, ones where they worked together and against each other, but nothing implied that they’d known he wanted the book. 

                She looked at Dean.  He was staring at her, angry and determined.  “Did you know that Crowley wanted the book?” she asked, bluntly. 

                He shook his head, firmly.  “No.”  His head replayed the image of her, of the demon who’d tortured her, and she felt again his disgust at not saving her faster.  There was no sense that he was lying, no secret truth behind his words.  Dean wasn’t working with Crowley.   _I can trust him_ , she thought.  She saw Dean jerk back, just slightly, and she felt his surprise jolt through her.  He’d heard her again. 

                She released his hand and lowered his gun.  Tentatively, she handed it back to him, grip first.  “Sammy,” he said.  “Let her listen to you.”

                Sam walked toward her, hand outstretched.  “It’s okay,” he told her.  He smiled, encouraging her to take his hand.  She grasped his fingers, and he squeezed her hand gently.  His hand was huge; it covered hers completely.  The images came quickly from Sam.  She saw the first deal they’d made with Crowley, and she saw him shackled to a chair in a decrepit church, begging for humanity.  She saw him in the bunker, both in the dungeon, desperate for blood and power, and in the main room, discussing the end of the world.  She saw Sam try to kill him, and fail spectacularly, filled with anger and desperation to help Dean.  But nowhere did she see or feel any deceit. 

                “Did you know about the book?  About Crowley and Cas?”  Her voice was steady, but her anger had broken.  She knew that doing this, asking the direct question, would get her a definite answer.  She’d feel if his answer was untrue, and she wanted to be sure.  But she already knew the truth.

                “No.”  He smiled sadly.  “If I had known, I would have stopped Crowley already.” 

                She released his hand and sat back down on the bed.  “I’m sorry,” she said, voice softer.  “But you are friends with Cas, and he’s working with Crowley.  I know Crowley wants the book - wants it enough that his demons were prepared to destroy me. That’s a problem.”

                Dean and Sam exchanged a look.  “Crowley’s always a problem,” Sam sighed.  “He’s our best chance of finding Lucifer, which is why Cas is working with him.  Cas doesn’t trust him, and we don’t either.”

                Dean joined in.  “But we need to find Lucifer and put him back in the cage, so we don’t have a choice.”

                Elise narrowed her eyes.  “Does he think the book factors into that?”

                Dean and Sam exchanged a glance.  Sam shrugged.  “It sounds like something Crowley would want, just because it’s powerful,” he said.  “And he’s desperate to lock Lucifer back up.  If he thinks there’s anything in the book that will give him an edge, he’ll do anything to get it.”

                Elise felt the concern in Sam’s mind and she shuddered.  Dean saw her body shake, and he stepped closer.  “Hey,” he said, voice rough.  “Crowley won’t touch you.  We won’t let him.”  His certainty washed over her, wiping out her anxiety.  “We can handle him.  We have before.”

                “Dean,” Sam interrupted.  “We need to warn Cas.  And we need to find out what’s in the book.”

                “Yeah.”  Dean agreed.  “I’ll make the call.”  He looked at Elise.  “Look, I know this sucks.  But you can trust us.”  
               

                 She nodded.  “Okay.”  She looked straight at Dean.  “But the location of the book stays a secret.  Don’t ask me.  And don’t tell your friend that I know where the book is – let’s just keep that information to ourselves.”

                “Not a problem,” Sam agreed. 

                “I’ll go call Cas,” Dean said.  “You should get back in bed,” he told Elise.  “No offense, but you look like crap.”

                She laughed.  “Yeah, well, I feel worse, but I’m done lying around.”  Dean started to protest.  “Seriously.  I’m done.  And no more drugs.  I need to get out of your heads and focus.  I can’t do that if I’m stoned.”  She stood up again.  “I’m going to get showered, and then I’m going to get something to eat.  After that, it’s back to work.”

                “You’re staying here, though,” Dean told her.  “If you leave the bunker, it’s harder to protect you.  Crowley’s flunkies would be able to get to you.”  She felt his concern, his need to take care of the people around him.  He was thinking that if she left and the demons picked her up again, she wouldn’t survive.  He was probably right.

                “That’s fine,” she agreed.  “I can work here, but I’ll need to get some things.”

                Sam smiled.  She could feel his approval.  “I’ll go on a supply run,” he offered.  “If you tell me where your stuff is, I’ll get whatever you need.”

                “Alright,” she said.  “Let’s get to work.”


	6. The Gift

                The next twenty-four hours were tense.  Dean had called Castiel, but he hadn’t answered his cell phone or their prayers.  Elise found that interesting; the boys explained that Cas heard their prayers immediately, but often didn’t answer right away.  “So, you get down on your knees, fold your hands, and poof – angel?” she’d asked.

                Dean snorted.  “Not exactly.”

                “He used to basically ignore me, and only answer when Dean prayed,” Sam explained.  “But he’s gotten better over the years.”

                While they waited for Cas, Sam and Dean dug through the lore about the book, trying to figure out why Crowley was interested.  Elise watched them, helping them search and read, but she did not contribute any new information; she wouldn’t tell them anything else until she knew what Crowley wanted.  She did, however, listen carefully to their thoughts, much more than she normally would.  With the drugs out of her system, and her body healing, she was able to focus her skills.  She wanted to be in the loop as much as possible, and that meant reading their minds without telling them she was doing it. 

                In all fairness, neither Dean nor Sam had any intention of lying to her.  Both of them were only interested in getting in touch with Cas and shutting down Crowley’s search for the book, and nothing in their thoughts led her to think otherwise.  But Elise wasn’t taking any risks, not when she’d been hurt so badly already.  So she half listened to what the boys were saying out loud, and the other half of her attention was focussed on their thoughts.

                She learned a lot from them when they didn’t know she was listening.  As they searched, they both let their minds wander to other concerns.  Sam was introspective; he thought about his life, the choices he’d made and people he’d saved.  Sometimes he thought about what he’d left behind.  She saw, through his eyes, the night Dean had come to his place, saying “Dad’s on a hunting trip, and he hasn’t been home in a few days.”  She felt the shift in his whole world as those words rang through him, and she knew, without question, that was the moment where everything changed.  Sam’s thoughts were tinged with sadness sometimes, but they were full of purpose and practicality.

                Dean was a different kind of thinker.  Dean thought about his car, about driving on the open road with no real purpose, and he thought about food a lot – cheeseburgers and pie featured heavily in his thought process.  Whenever his mind moved into darker territory, like the glimpses of death and torture she’d caught before, he forced himself back to the safer areas of his mind by mentally humming classic rock or remembering happy times with Sam.  More than once, Elise caught herself smiling at Dean’s memories, like the time where Sam gave him an amulet for Christmas, and Dean had been so pleased that he’d almost burst.  He was no less emotional than Sam, but he was determined to push the negative side of things away from himself as much as possible.

                Both of them, she noticed, immediately changed their mental process whenever their mother came up in their minds.  Something was going on there, but for now, she had to leave that on the back burner. 

                When they stopped working to eat, they talked.  She had to be careful not to let it slip that she’d been reading their minds the whole time, but here and there, she made mistakes.  Dean caught her once, smirking at her mistake, when she said too much about something he had only thought.  He turned the conversation back to her.

                “How do you keep it all straight?” he asked, waving his hand at her.  “How do you remember what people said versus what they just thought?”

                She shrugged.  “The biggest trick is to not talk that much,” she said.  “I’ve heard so much from you guys in the past few days that I’m going to make more mistakes.”

                “How much are you listening to us now?” Dean pressed.

    
                She blushed.  “Well…” she met his gaze, and then dropped her eyes.  “Sorry.”

                Sam laughed.  “I told you she’d be on high alert, Dean.  You wouldn’t really trust us either, if you were her.”

                “How clear is it, now that you’re not taking the painkillers?”  Dean was still trying to figure it all out.

                “Sometimes it’s perfect – like if you’re concentrating really hard, or if you are invested in a thought.  If the feeling associated with it is strong, it’s much clearer than something that has no feelings with it.”  She paused, thinking.  “If you imagine your favorite food, I can get the food, how much you like it, and the details – like what you like on your burgers, Dean.  If you think of eating something you just kind of put up with, I will probably just get the idea of eating.”

                “And it’s stronger if you’re touching?”

                “Yeah,” she nodded.  “Skin contact makes it clearer.”  She felt the catch in Dean’s thoughts then, the quick leap in his logic, and then his desire to push the question down so as not to go too far.  She sighed, and he quirked an eyebrow at her.  “Just ask, Dean.  I already know what you’re thinking, and the curiosity will kill you.”

                “So…” He looked at her, awkwardly.  “How do you, uh, have, uh, you know…”

                “Sex?”  He blushed.

                “Dean!” Sam was mortified.

                “Everyone who’s ever figured out what I can do has asked that question – or has wanted to,” she said.  “It’s complicated.  If I concentrate, I can shut out their thoughts, for the most part.  If I really trust them, I can just let it all flow through me, which can be really great.  But it’s got a lot of potential for disaster.”  She frowned. Dean’s thoughts had shifted, very suddenly, and he was thinking very loudly about pie again.  She glanced at him, to find his cheeks pink and his eyes on the table.  She realized that he’d started to think about her having sex, about her naked and writhing, and he’d shut it down so she wouldn’t hear it.  She blushed, suddenly glad he wasn’t able to hear _her_ thoughts.

                “Have you always been like this?” Sam was curious.  She could hear him trying to decide if her ability was a gift or a curse.  “Like, did you have to deal with this as a little kid?”

                “Oh, god no,” she said, laughing.  “Not until I was 19.”  He waited for her to go on.  “It’s kind of a weird story.”

                “Sweetheart, those are the only kinds of stories we hear,” Dean grumbled. 

                “When I was younger, I worked in a bakery part-time.  It was a specialty kind of shop, with fancy cupcakes and cakes, and everything there was super sweet.  You know, chocolate bars baked into the cupcakes, cookies made into gourmet ice-cream sandwiches, the kind of place where everything costs three times as much as you’d expect, but you buy it anyway, because it just looks so damn good.”  She looked at the table.  “I did some of the baking and decorating, and I worked the cash a lot.  We had lots of regular customers.  One, a guy named Geoff, asked me out.  He seemed really sweet – he would bring me little gifts at work, come by just to see me, things like that.  When he asked me out, I said yes.  We dated for a little while, and then, one night, as I was finishing up in the bakery for the night, he showed up.”

                Elise took a deep breath.  This wasn’t a story she liked to tell.  “When he came through the door, I could see that something was wrong with him.  He was nervous, kind of twitchy, and he kept looking behind him.  When I asked him if he was okay, he pulled a gun.”  She heard Dean’s thoughts shift into protective mode.  She smiled at him, gently.  “Turns out he was a drug addict, and he was dealing on the side, except he wasn’t good at it.  He used his drugs instead of selling them, and his supplier wanted the money. He figured he could get it from me.”

                Sam and Dean exchanged a look.  “What happened?” Sam asked.

                She shook her head.  “It’s hard to explain.  The door opened, and another regular customer strolled in.  He was a nice guy, really funny and charming, who bought a lot of stuff from the store.  I made him special items all the time – the more sugar and icing, the better.  We were friends.  He’d come tell me awful jokes, and I’d slip him an extra cupcake here and there.  Anyway, when he came in, Geoff jumped.  Like I said, he was twitchy.  He was probably high.  Anyway, the door opened, Geoff was startled, and he pulled the trigger.  He shot me in the stomach, and I went down like a stone.”  She closed her eyes for a minute, remembering.  “I knew it was bad.  There was so much blood, so fast, and everything seemed to move in slow motion.  I was lying on the floor, holding my stomach, and then Gabe – the other guy – he grabbed Geoff, put his hand right on his forehead.  There was a blinding light and Geoff was just… dead.”

                She took a ragged breath.  This story always messed her up.  “Then he knelt down next to me.  He told me I couldn’t die, because he needed me to keep making him cupcakes.  He touched my forehead with two fingers, and I remember that I gasped, and then all the pain was gone.  Then he lifted me up so that I was cradled in his arms, and as he hugged me to him, he whispered in my ear.  He said ‘I don’t normally give gifts like this to humans, but you are special, Elise.  You’ll never be caught by surprise again, and you’ll always know what people’s true intentions are.’  He kissed me, and it was like he breathed into my mouth.  I felt like I’d been filled with light, pure light. Then he released me.  He lay me back down on the floor, winked, and disappeared.  That was it.  When the cops showed up, I was covered in blood, completely unharmed, and I could hear every single thought in their heads.”

                She looked up to find them staring at her.  “Son of a bitch,” Dean muttered. 

                “Explains a lot,” Sam said to him.  They both looked vaguely irritated. 

                “What?” Elise asked. 

                “When was this?” Dean asked.  “Did you ever see him again?”

                She shook her head.  “A couple of years ago,” she said.  “Right before all those big storms we had.  He never came back to the bakery.”

                Sam exhaled, a long slow breath.  Neither of them spoke, so she rifled through their thoughts.  “You… you knew him?” she asked, shocked.  “I can see him in your thoughts.  How is that possible?”  She kept her focus on their thoughts of the man.

                “He was an archangel,” Dean said.  “Gabriel was one of the four archangels.”

                She gaped at him.  In Dean’s mind, she saw him playing tricks on the brothers, saw him pull a blade from his sleeve, saw him die with wings spread wide.  “Holy shit,” she whispered.

                “Can all angels give people abilities like that?” Sam wondered aloud. 

                “Cas would know for sure,” Dean said.  “We’ll have to ask him when he gets here.”  He pushed his chair back from the table, standing up.  “Anything that Gabriel was involved with is risky,” he said, more to himself than anyone.  “He was a magnet for trouble.”

                Sam weighed in.  “But you know how he was with his favorites, Dean.  Look at us – he came back to torture us - and help us - more than once,” he said, “and he kind of hated us.  If he liked Elise, it might just have been a gift given out of kindness.”

                Dean turned to look at him.  “Maybe,” he replied.  “But in our lives, when has a gift ever just been a gift?”  He was angry at this unexpected turn of events.  Elise could feel his discomfort, since it had ratcheted back up several notches.  He looked at her, unsettled.  “If Gabriel did this, anything is possible,” he told her.  “He might have known the part she’d play in this battle with Lucifer.”

                Elise shook her head.  “No,” she said firmly.  “I don’t have a part in a battle with the devil.  That’s not remotely possible.”

                Sam smiled at her.  He was quick to offer emotional support, to reassure.  “I know it’s a lot,” he said, “but we’ll figure it out.”

                “You definitely fit into this mess somehow,” Dean muttered.  She let herself slip into his thoughts.  Sam had history with Lucifer – big, scary history – and that was more than she could handle.

                “No,” she said again.  “I’ve got nothing to do with this.  I hid the book because it needed to be hidden.  But I’m not involved in anything with Lucifer.  I’m just a regular girl!”

                Dean snorted.  “You are definitely not a regular girl.”

                Before she could respond, a gravelly voice came from behind her.  “No, she isn’t,” the voice said, seriously.  Elise turned to find the blue-eyed angel she’d seen in Sam’s mind.  “And she’s more dangerous than you realize.”

 


	7. Grace

                Cas stepped further into the room, his blue eyes laser focused on Elise.  “What are you?” he asked, his head tilted down toward her.  He made a small movement with his hand, and she caught a flash of silver.  He had a blade there, and was slowly stalking toward her.  She reached with her extra sense, trying to get something from the angel, something she could use to calm him down and make him trust her.  But there was nothing; he was a wall of silence to her.

                “Cas, man, relax,” Dean said, stepping in front of her.  “She’s a friend.  Stow the blade.”

                Castiel’s eyes narrowed.   “She is not a friend, Dean. She has _grace_.” Dean’s eyes widened.  Elise heard a sharp intake of breath from Sam.  “She is not to be trusted.  A human who has taken an angel’s grace is an enemy of Heaven.” Elise didn’t have to be able to read minds to understand what he thought she’d done.  The icy tone of his voice was clear.

                Dean turned to look at her, an eyebrow raised, but Sam spoke up before he could say anything.  “You’re going to have to hear her story, Cas.”  His voice was calm and reassuring.  “She didn’t steal anyone’s grace.  It was given to her.”

                The angel’s eyes narrowed even further.  “Unlikely,” he replied.  “Angels do not give their grace away easily.”

                “Cas,” Dean said.  “Give her a chance.”  He gestured behind himself, pointing at Elise.  “Put the blade down and talk to her.  You can always kill her later.”  Sam’s head swung sharply toward Dean, but Elise didn’t move.  She was listening to Dean’s thoughts.  _He won’t kill you.  Don’t worry._   He spoke again.  “We found her being tortured by a demon.  She’s been here for a few days.”

                Cas stopped, still glaring at her.  “Why?”

                “Why was she being tortured?” Dean asked.  “Long story.”

                “No.”  Cas was firm.  “Why is she here?”

                Dean rolled his eyes.  Elise could hear the irritation in his voice, and she could feel it rolling off him.  “Because the demon tried to julienne her, and we’re not in the habit of throwing half-dead girls out into the street.”

                There was a pause while the angel processed Dean’s statement.  “You’ve never brought a stranger to the bunker, Dean.  Why this one?  Why not bring her to a hospital?”

                “I told you, Cas – it’s a long story.”  Dean moved to stand next to Elise, putting his hand on her arm.  Without noticing what she was doing, she had taken a defensive posture, ready to run or fight.  “She’s fine here.” 

                “Come on, Cas,” Sam cut in, standing up and walking over to Cas.  “Put the blade away and we’ll explain the whole thing.  That’s why we called you.  You can trust us.”

                “I trust you, but I do not trust her, Sam.”  Cas relinquished his blade, but still looked at Elise with apprehension.  “I do not like this.”

                _I don’t exactly trust you either,_ Elise thought viciously, thinking of the demon with the knife and his allegiance to Crowley, Castiel’s current partner.  Dean’s head snapped toward her, then he looked down to where his hand rested on her arm.  “What?” she said, sharply. 

                Dean shook his head.  “Not now.”  The rest of his thought was in his head, but she heard it all the same.  _What the hell is happening between us? When Cas leaves we need to sort this shit out._

Across the room, Cas was watching them with suspicious eyes.  Sam had taken his angel blade and laid it aside.  “Let’s sit down,” he said, trying to make peace in the group.  “Dean?  Elise?”

                They separated, shaking off the confusion.  “Yeah,” Dean said.  “Let’s get Cas up to speed.”

 

               

                The conversation with Castiel was awkward, to say the least.  Elise sat at the table silently while Dean and Sam explained how they’d met her and why they’d brought her to the bunker.  The angel’s eyes were cold and hard as he listened.  She didn’t need to be a mind-reader to see how much he wanted to protect the guys. 

                “Why was the demon torturing her?” Cas interrupted Dean’s explanation.

                “We’re actually hoping you can help with that,” Sam said.  “Did Crowley mention a book?”

                Cas’ eyes narrowed again.  “Yes.”  The room was silent.  Elise felt a spike in Dean’s emotions, as irritation was practically seeping from his pores.

                “Want to clarify there, Cas?”  Dean was obviously annoyed, but the angel didn’t seem to notice.

                Cas looked sideways at Elise.  “I’m not sure I should proceed with her here.”

                It was time to speak up.  “The demon was trying to get information about the book.  From me.  By carving me like a ham.  So yeah, you definitely should proceed.”  Now it was Elise’s turn to glare. 

                Cas wasn’t influenced by her attitude.  “Why do you have grace?”  There was hostility in his voice.

                “What the hell is grace?”  She should have pulled the information from Dean or Sam earlier, but she’d been more concerned with the angel who wanted to kill her. 

                Cas huffed, making a sound that she wouldn’t have associated with an angel of the Lord.  “Grace is the essence of an angel,” he told her.  “It is what makes us celestial beings.”  He caught her eye then, and in that moment, his irises burned a bright, unnatural blue, and she could see his wings, a large, shadowed pair, arching up behind him.  He seemed taller, even though he was sitting in a chair, and she felt the weight of his power.  He reached out, toward her, and grasped her hand, turning it so the palm faced upward.  His other hand skimmed along above the surface of her skin, and she saw a faint trace of blue light there.  She stared, fascinated, as the light pulsed beneath his hand, glowing under her skin. 

                And then he released her arm.  The wings were gone, and Cas was back to his usual tax accountant appearance. 

                “What does that mean?”  she asked, confused.

                “It gives you special abilities,” he said.  She was struck, over and over, by his deep, raspy voice.  “It means you’ll heal faster than most, and survive things that would kill others.  You’ll never get cancer or other diseases. You’ll probably live to be over one hundred, if nothing supernatural kills you.”  She heard both Dean and Sam think that without the grace she possessed, the demon’s torture would have killed her.  She shuddered at the thought.

                “And the mind reading?” she pressed, needing to know.  Sam and Dean were silent, watching the exchange.  Cas raised an eyebrow.  “When I was given the, uh, grace, I started to be able to read people’s minds.”

                “Who gave you their grace?”  Castiel was concerned.  “Unless you had some latent ability, it would have had to be an angel of a higher order - ”

                “Gabriel.”  Dean cut him off.  “She knew Gabriel.”  He looked at Elise, as if asking permission to explain.  She nodded, a small movement of her head.  He outlined the story quickly, bringing Cas up to speed. 

                “Can an archangel do that?” Sam asked. 

                “Yes,” Cas assured them.  “Gabriel would have been capable of bestowing such a gift.  The grace of an archangel is far more powerful than that of a seraph.  It is a very serious gift, one not given lightly.”

                Elise had fallen silent during the exchange.  “Hey,” Dean said.  “You alright?”  He reached toward her, but she pulled her hand back before he could touch her. 

                “This is a lot,” she said, shaking her head.  “Just… too much.”  She felt tired.  Her body ached all over.  She rubbed at the bandages on her wrists.  “I think I need…” She trailed off, unsure of the end of the sentence.  “I don’t know.  God.”

                Dean turned to Cas.  “Can you heal her?”  Cas’ face was immobile.  “She’s healing, but not fast enough.”  The angel nodded, and lifted his hand toward her, two fingers outstretched.  She jerked back.  She remembered the night in the bakery, lying in her own blood, and Gabe touching her.  The memory jolted her.

                “It’s okay, Elise,” Sam assured her. 

                “I know,” she said, trying to shake off the feelings of the memory.  “Just… remembering the last time someone did that.”  Dean was watching her, concerned. 

                “You will be fine,” Castiel said, his voice impassive.  He leaned forward, letting her see his intentions.  He lifted his hand slowly, pausing before he touched her, waiting for her to give a small nod before he touched her forehead.  She closed her eyes, bracing herself for whatever would happen.  When his fingers touched her skin, she felt a flash of warmth flood through her.  Usually, when someone touched her, she heard their thoughts clearly, but this time, with Castiel, there was nothing.  She listened, carefully, but heard nothing.  She relaxed, and his felt his fingers move away from her face. 

                When she opened her eyes, all three of them were staring at her.  “Weird,” Sam said. 

                “What?”  Elise was confused.   She realized she no longer ached or hurt; she looked down at her arms, which were no longer bruised and cut.  She lifted the hem of her shirt, checking her stomach, where some of the worst slashes had been, and found nothing but smooth skin.  She sighed in relief.

                “You… can’t see it?” Dean asked.

                “See it?” she repeated. 

                “It is fading already,” Cas said.  She looked to him, confused.  “The grace inside you.  It lit up when I healed you.”  
              

                “You were kind of…” Dean tried to find the word.  “Glowing.”

                “Glowing.”  She repeated him again.

                “Yeah,” Dean said.  “Glowing.”

                “Am I okay?” she asked.  She could feel the Dean’s concern.  He looked to Cas for an answer.  The angel’s face wasn’t as stony as before; now, there was a hint of worry between his eyes.

                “Gabriel must have given her more grace than I imagined,” he replied.  “A small amount would be virtually undetectable, but this much is concerning.”

                “Why?” Sam asked. 

                “Each angel’s grace is unique,” he explained.  “Gabriel, as an archangel, carried powerful grace, much more potent than the lower orders of angels.  His grace, when he wasn’t using his skills to hide it, would be like a beacon to other angels.  Those of his garrison would be drawn to it immediately, as would the other archangels.”

                “That can’t be right,” Elise said.  “I’ve had the grace for years, apparently, but I’ve never met an angel before.”

                Castiel turned to Dean and Sam.  “Do you remember when I burned the Enochian symbols into your ribs, the ones that hid you from all angels?”  They nodded.  “Gabriel did the same here.”  He turned back to Elise.  “You have been hidden from angels by the markings Gabriel placed on your ribs when he gave you his grace.”

                “So why is it a problem now?”

                Dean sighed.  “The demon broke your ribs,” he said.  “It’s like a devil’s trap.  Once it’s broken or disturbed, it’s useless.”

                “The minute he cracked your ribs, you were visible to angels.  And to archangels.”  Sam looked at her sadly, and Dean was looking at the table. 

                “I’m not getting something here,” she told them, confused.  “Why does that matter?”

                “Lucifer.”  Cas spoke up.  “He can find you.”  She must have looked confused, because Cas kept talking.  “It’s complicated.”

                She crossed her arms, leaning back in her chair.  “Well, someone needs to explain this.  What would the devil want with me?”

  
                “It’s about the book,” Sam said.  “Crowley is hunting for the book, and since he had you kidnapped and tortured, he knows you’re connected somehow.  If Lucifer knows that Crowley wants the book, and knows about you, he’ll come for you.”

                “Lucifer has demons everywhere,” Cas told them.  “Crowley was sure that he had spies following him.”

                Elise shuddered.  Every time Sam thought about Lucifer, she could feel his fear and pain.  She was having a hard time keeping herself together.  Between her own rising panic, Sam’s feelings toward Lucifer, and Dean’s usual need to protect everyone, she was really starting to struggle. 

                Dean saw the look on her face.  “Listen, sweetheart, you’re safe here.”  She looked at him.  “The bunker is fully warded against angels and demons.  Cas can only get in because we let him in.”

                She raised an eyebrow.  “But I’ve seen them both here, in your memories.  Lucifer and Crowley have both been inside the bunker.”

                Dean’s face registered surprise for just a moment, then he schooled his features into something more comforting.  “Yeah, we took the wards down when we thought the world was ending and we needed their help.  But we put them back up once that was all over.”

                Sam smiled at her.  Despite his own discomfort, he was trying to put her at ease.  “As long as you’re inside the bunker, he can’t sense you at all.”

                She made a sound of relief.  So the devil might be hunting her, but she was hidden from his view.   She’d have to stay here, but maybe with the help of these men, she could find a way out of this problem. 

                In the meantime, Dean was back to the problem that had brought them all together.  “What does Crowley want with the book, Cas?”

                “He said the book would solve our problems,” Cas replied, seriously.  “It would show him how to get the power he needed.”

                “So he’d be able to control Lucifer?  To put him back in the cage?” Sam asked.

                Cas shook his head.  “No.”  He paused.  “He would be able to kill him.”  

               

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh. Well. This story's just gotten much bigger than I originally planned. I may live to regret this chapter, eventually. 
> 
> Thanks for reading - comments and likes are greatly appreciated.


	8. Complications

                “Kill Lucifer.”  Dean’s voice was incredulous.

                “Yes,” Cas answered.  “Crowley believes that it is possible, if he finds the book.”

                “Are you telling me,” Dean said slowly, “that all this time, there was a way to kill that dick?  And that Crowley knew about it?”

                Castiel shook his head.  “He found information about the book since we began searching,” he clarified.  “He tracked down some ancient sources, and they led to the book.  Crowley thinks that the information in the book can give him enough power to kill Lucifer.”

                Elise stared at the table, trying to think it all through.  She could feel the weight of Sam and Dean’s thoughts, of their desire to be done with Lucifer once and for all.  She let herself touch the edges of their thoughts, and immediately she was wrapped in Dean’s memory, seeing Sam on the edge of a giant, gaping hole, feeling Dean’s despair as Sam plunged into the cage, dragging Lucifer with him.  She gasped, drawing the attention of the men.

                “Elise?” Sam asked, concerned.  She shook her head.  “You okay?”

                She looked guiltily at Dean, barely able to make eye contact.  “I’m fine,” she said quietly.  She resolved not to eavesdrop on their thoughts anymore, no matter how confused she was about what was happening.  Dean narrowed his eyes at her, realizing what she’d done. 

                “How does it work, Cas?”  Sam tried to get them back on track. “Does Crowley know specifics?”

                “He knows what the book is supposed to contain,” the angel replied. “He said it would give him a way to control anything with a demonic soul.  With enough demons under his command, he could absorb their powers, much like the soul bomb Rowena created for Dean.  He could use that power to kill the devil.”

                Elise felt Sam and Dean’s eyes on her before she looked up.  They were watching her, waiting to see if she’d speak up.  She sighed.  “Well, he’s left out the details, but there is some truth in what he told Castiel.” 

                “How much truth?”  Dean asked.

                “You remember what I told you before?”  They nodded, but Elise explained for Castiel’s benefit.  “If he gets the book, he could create lots of demonized souls quickly – like an express route through hell.  The purpose of the book is to create demons and enslave humans.”

                “He did not mention that part,” Castiel told them.  Dean snorted.

                “Well, there’s more to it,” Elise went on.  “If he had the book, he could not only create the demons, but control them fully.  The book details how to manipulate and use the powers of all demons.”  She felt the tension in the room rise, and knew that what she was going to say next would make it worse.  “It’s not just a book.  There’s, uh, an object.  When paired with the book, the person who holds the object can actually take the powers of the demons.”

                “Take the powers?” Dean repeated.

                “Yeah,” she said.  “Take them.  Crowley could use the object to pull into himself the powers of all the demons on the planet.  The object would concentrate that power into one being.”

                “He would be unbeatable,” Sam said, exhaling through the words. 

                Castiel was still focused on Elise.  “What is this object?” His words were sharp, demanding.

                She shook her head, pushing her chair back from the table, walking away from them.  She couldn’t tell them – couldn’t tell anyone.  The risk was too high. 

                “Elise.”  Sam’s voice was kind.  “You can tell us.”

                “No,” she said, choking on the words.  “I can’t.  If you know, they can use it against you.  They could beat it out of you, like they tried to do with me.  They’d torture you, and I couldn’t live with myself if you guys were hurt because of something I told you.”  She glanced at Dean, saw the concern on his face.  “No one else can know anything about this.  It’s the only way to keep it safe, to keep people safe.”

                “You don’t need to worry about us,” Sam told her, gently.  

                Elise kept her back to them, taking a deep breath.  She needed to get out of this room, take a break from all of this.  It was getting to her, all the pressure, the heaviness of the emotions in the room.  She looked down at her hands, stretching her fingers in front of her, forcing herself to focus.  “But I am going to worry, Sam,” she replied, voice soft.  “I can’t help it.  I’ve been in your head – both of you – and I know you’ve been tortured.  I know you’ve been through hell.  Literally.  I can’t be the reason you have to face that again.”  She turned back toward them.  “And if I don’t tell you, the secret won’t be your problem.”

                Dean stood up then, coming over to her.  “Hey,” he said, voice rough.  “We can handle whatever happens.” He reached out and grabbed her arm.  “You’re not alone on this anymore.”  When his hand touched her arm, his feelings shot through her.  Anger, worry, irritation, and something else – something softer.  Caring?  She tilted her head, looking curiously at his face.  Was that for her?  Did Dean feel something for her?  Dean dropped his hand, releasing her, and the feelings ebbed. 

                “Where is this book?  And the object?”  Castiel’s gravelly voice brought her concentration back. 

                Sam answered the first question for her, explaining the layers of security that protected the book, but also telling the angel that only Elise knew its exact location.  When he finished, he turned to her.  “Not sure about the object, though.  That’s new information for us.”

                “It’s safe,” she said, avoiding the specifics.  “And it’s not with the book.  I kept them separate.”

                “So, Crowley knows about the book, and suspects that it could help him, but he doesn’t know about the object or how it would work,” Dean said, summarizing.  “And you know where both of those things are, and how they work.”  Elise nodded.  “And Crowley’s hunting you, but doesn’t know we have you.  And Lucifer is probably hot on his heels.”  He looked around the group.  “Awesome.  I’m going to get a beer.”  He walked from the room, running his hand through his hair as he went.

                Elise took that as a cue for a break.  “I’m going to go to my room for a few minutes,” she told them, moving toward the door.  “My brain needs a break from all this tension.”  Sam smiled at her as she left the room.  She moved quickly down the hall, and when she got to her room, she lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling.  There was so much happening here – so much she hadn’t expected when she’d found out about the book and taken responsibility for it.  Now she was faced with a powerful demon and the devil himself, not to mention an angel and two men who hunted supernatural beings for a living.  She closed her eyes, sighing.  There was no easy answer to her problems; that was certain.

                She’d been lying there for a little while when she heard footsteps.  She looked toward the door.  Dean was there, leaning against the doorway, arms crossed.  She’d been too hurt before to really pay attention to how good looking he was, but now that her body was back to normal, she couldn’t help staring, just a little.  Those green eyes seemed to see right through her, and the stubborn set of his jaw was incredibly appealing to her.  She spoke softly.  “Hey.”

                “You alright?” he asked.  Of all the things she’d learned by being in his thoughts, she knew that Dean was a caregiver.  He had taken care of Sam, not just because he’d had to, but because he wanted to make sure Sam was happy.  Dean had a tendency to put others first and to put himself last.  It was both noble and tragic.

                “Yeah,” she sighed.  “Just overwhelmed.  And, if I’m honest, terrified.” 

                Dean came into the room, moving to stand closer to where she lay.  She turned her head toward him, and he sat on the bed, looking down at her.  “I know we said it, but don’t worry about Crowley and Lucifer.  We’ll figure it out,” he reasoned.  “You’re safe here.”

                “I keep trying to tell myself that,” she admitted, “but then I remember that the devil is probably looking for me, and I start to freak out.” 

                Dean shrugged that off.  “Lucifer isn’t the worst monster we’ve ever faced.  He’s completely nuts, but we can deal with him.”  He paused, and she could feel his discomfort.  “Listen, we need to figure out what’s going on between us.”

                She blushed, and pushed herself into a sitting position beside him.  “You mean, the, uh, thoughts thing?”

                “Yeah,” Dean said.  “Are you doing that on purpose?”

                She shook her head.  “It’s never happened before.  Ever.”

                “Just with me?  And only if we’re touching?” 

                “I guess so,” she said.  “Can I… can I touch you?  Test it out?”  She knew it would be weird, and that he was uncomfortable. 

                “Pick a number, a color, and a food item,” Dean said.  He got up and went to the desk in the room, grabbing a notepad that was there.  “Write them here.  Then flip it over, and try to tell me the three things.”

                Elise scribbled the words on the page before hiding her answers.  When she was done, she reached for Dean, hesitantly.  “Are you sure?” she asked, watching those green eyes closely. 

                “Yeah,” he said, voice rough and low.  “I need to know.”

  
                She touched his arm, his bare skin, and once again his thoughts were flying through her.  She saw herself, saw the way she looked to him, bruised and battered before, but now smooth and whole.  She saw herself glowing, just lightly blue, as Castiel’s hands moved above her skin.  She saw herself, right now, holding onto Dean’s arm, smiling slightly, head tilted just a little to the left, eyes closed, leaning in toward Dean.  And she realized, suddenly, that Dean’s view of her had changed since they’d met.  The discomfort that he felt wasn’t marring the way he saw her; instead, every image was tinged with warmth and protectiveness, and there, beneath that, was desire.  She gasped, just a little breath, and her eyes flew open.  His eyes were trained on her, watching.

                “Okay,” she exhaled the word, getting herself together.  “Ready?”  Dean nodded.  She thought the three things, carefully, slowly, and watched his face.

                “14.  Green.  Bacon.”  His voice was sure.

                She let go of his arm, breaking the connection.  “Christ,” she swore softly, then realized that was probably offensive to the angel in the other room.  She glanced guiltily at the door.  Dean reached past her to flip her notepad, finding what she’d already known – he could hear her, at least when they were touching. 

                “This is weird,” Dean said.

                “No, what I can do with everyone else is weird,” she corrected.  “This is outright freaky.”

                Dean laughed, a derisive sound, and reached for her hand.  “Try again,” he said.  “Pick something else.  Try to tell me something longer.”

                When his hand touched hers, she felt the flash of his thoughts.  He was thinking that he liked touching her, and she immediately blushed, flicking her eyes up to meet his. 

                “What?”  he asked. 

                “You just,” she paused, trying to find a way to say it nicely.  “You think loudly, sometimes.  It’s like you forget that I’m going to hear your thoughts.”

                “Oh.”  Dean was quiet a moment, realizing what she’d heard.  “Sorry.”

                “No, it’s nice,” she said, squeezing his hand.  “You know, when you rescued me and learned what I could do, you hated to be anywhere near me.  I didn’t think you’d ever get comfortable with it.”

                “Yeah, well, if you’re hearing the stuff I don’t want anyone to know, you’re not saying anything about it,” he said gruffly.  She could see flashes of those things in his head – killings and deaths, choices he’d made that had backfired, self-loathing that bordered on crippling at times. 

                “Everyone’s like that, you know,” she said.  “Everyone has stuff in their head that they don’t even admit to themselves.  I try to stay out of it, keep to myself, and try to treat people they way they need to be treated.”  He looked at her, his eyes questioning.  “You need kindness, Dean.  You see the absolute worst that the world has to offer, and that’s a heavy burden.  You and Sam both need someone to take care of you once in a while.”

                Dean didn’t know what to do with that comment.  He tried to pull his hand away from her, but she held on, tugging gently.  “Hey,” she said, smiling at him.  _I like touching you too,_ she thought, _now that I don’t freak you the hell out anymore._

                Dean laughed.  It was a beautiful sound, full bodied and happy.  Suddenly she was filled with the lightness that came from touching him as he laughed, releasing his tension into a moment of levity.  She giggled, her feelings buoyed up by his.  He leaned toward her, relaxed now, and she heard his thoughts shift.  He was thinking that he’d like to kiss her, wondering if it would be okay to make that move.  She was about to respond, but just then, Sam came down the hall, calling out to them both. 

  
                “Dean?  Elise?”  He came through the doorway, finding them sitting together, hands clasped.  “I think we’ve – hey, sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt.”  He held his hands up in apology, clearly worried that he’d come in at the wrong time.

                “No, we were just…” Dean trailed off.  “Never mind.  What do you want, Sammy?”

                “Crowley just called Cas.  He’s got a lead on Lucifer.” 

                Elise shuddered at the thought of the demon.  Rather than let go of her hand, Dean tightened his grip on her fingers and thought at her.  _You’re safe.  Don’t worry._   He was picturing Crowley inside a ring of symbols, trapped and powerless. 

                “We should bring him in,” Dean said to Sam, letting go of Elise’s hand and standing up.  He moved to the door, talking as he went.  “We need to sort out this mess about the book.”

                Sam glanced at Elise, then looked at Dean.  There was meaning there, another one of those conversations that Sam and Dean had without words, and Elise knew that they were keeping something from her.  She sighed, looking at them both.  “Really guys?”

                Sam looked sheepish.  “About that,” he started.  “When Crowley called, he had a few things to say about the book.”  Dean waited, and Elise took a deep breath.  She already knew what was coming. 

                “He knows I’m here,” she said, voice flat.  “And he’s coming here too.” 


	9. Inked

                Elise turned away from the guys.  Her brain was working fast, trying to decide how she was going to get the hell out of this mess.  She could wait until the guys were asleep, sneak out, steal a car, and get far away from here.  She’d need to get some weapons. 

                “Stop,” Dean said, reaching out to grab her arm.  She flinched back, and he looked hurt, just for a second.  “You’re panicking.  I can see it on your face.”

                “As far as I can tell, this is a perfectly reasonably reaction to being hunted by a demon,” she snapped.  “I need to get out of here before Crowley shows up.”

                “He won’t touch you,” Sam told her.  “We’ll make sure.”

                “She needs to get the tattoo,” Dean said to Sam.  “Like, yesterday.  If they find her and she doesn’t have it, they’ll possess her and get the information.”

                “Possess me?”  Elise’s voice jumped up an octave when she heard that.  “That’s a joke, right?” Both men shook their heads at her.  “Why do I need a tattoo?”  She was too stressed to read them, so she was forced to just ask.

                “There’s a mark, a symbol, that will prevent demons from possessing a person,” Sam explained.  “Demons can just jump into a person.  They don’t need your consent.  An angel would need you to agree before they could get in your body.”

                She pressed her fingertips to her forehead, covering her eyes, frustrated and afraid.  “So, Crowley could just… possess me?  Why didn’t that other demon try that, rather than torture me?”

                “The symbols Gabriel put on your ribs probably wouldn’t let him in.  But we’re not sure that those will work now.  The grace inside you isn’t hidden anymore, so you’re probably not protected from possession anymore either,” Dean said, matter-of-factly.

                “I’ll call the place in town,” Sam said to Dean.  “See if they can do it.”

                “I’ll find her an anti-possession charm for the drive,” Dean replied.  Sam nodded, then left the room.  Dean turned to her.  “It’s just a precaution,” he told her.  “We both have them.  It’s come in handy more than once.”

                “What does it look like?” she asked.  “How big is it?”

                Dean huffed, but reached up the pull the neck of his shirt to one side, showing her the black ink on his chest.  She reached out, touching it gently.  His thoughts flashed through to her.  He was remembering Sam, possessed by a demon before they’d gotten the tattoos, wild and dangerous and unable to fight the demon off.  He was also thinking about her fingers on his skin.  She blushed and let her hand drop.

                “I need to do this?” she asked, unsure.

                “Yes,” Dean replied.  “Before Crowley gets here, if we can.”

                She shuddered.  “Fine.  Let’s do it.”

 

               

                Dean took her to the tattoo shop.  When they left the bunker, charm tucked in her pocket, she found herself standing by the sleek black car she’d seen in his memories.  “Is this yours?” she asked Dean, surprised that such an old car was in such good condition.

                “Yeah,” Dean said.  “This is my Baby.  She was my Dad’s.”

                Elise was impressed.  She could feel Dean’s pride; it was almost palpable.  “How do you keep this car so perfect?  It’s got to be, what, from the 60s, right?”

                “1967.  I do all the work on her myself.” 

                “So, you hunt monsters, save the world, and in your spare time, do a little light bodywork and engine repair?’ 

                Dean laughed.  “Well, light is an optimistic word,” he admitted.  “She’s been near death a few times, but I always bring her back.”  He slid behind the wheel and turned the key, the engine turning over with a smooth sound.  “She’s been through a lot, but she’s reliable.”

                “I bet,” Elise replied.  She sat beside Dean, listening to classic rock as they drove into town. 

                At the shop, Dean showed the artist the symbol she needed.  “Matching ink, hey?” the tattooist said.  “How long have you been together?”

                Elise nearly laughed at Dean’s discomfort.  She jumped in as he sputtered.  “Oh, about a year now, right babe?”  He looked at her, still stuck for words.  “He’s had his for ages, but I’ve been too afraid to get mine done.  Today’s the day, though.”  She smiled brightly at Dean, winking when the tattooist wasn’t looking.  “I just haven’t decided where to get it,” she went on.  “Where do you think, honey?”  She tucked her hand through the crook in his arm, touching his hand, pulling herself into his side. 

                Dean looked at her, wondering what she was doing.  She thought carefully, trying to send him her thought.  _Let him think we’re a couple.  It’s a lot less weird to get matching tattoos than to get an anti-demon-possession tattoo._   She wasn’t sure he got the whole thing, but he relaxed, and then played along.

                “Well, sweetheart,” he said, his voice low and rough, “it doesn’t matter to me.  You can get it here,” his finger traced a line down her neck, stopping at her upper chest, where his tattoo sat.  “Or here,” he spoke again, running his hand down her side, fingers stopping on her hip bone, squeezing gently.  “Or even here,” he said, reaching around to slap her butt, gently, playfully. 

                Her breath had caught in her chest when he started to touch her, and she hoped beyond hope that he hadn’t caught any of her thoughts.  She could sense his, of course, and she knew he was enjoying this.  She’d asked him to play along, and he was going to do it to the absolute best of his ability, getting a kick out of teasing her.  When his open palm landed on her ass, she gasped, then giggled, genuinely amused by his flirting.  Nothing was sexier than a man who could make her laugh, she thought to herself, and Dean Winchester was registering high on that scale right now.

                Elise spoke to the tattoo artist.  “What spots hurt the least?”  She wasn’t a total wimp, but since she’d just gone through an awful lot of pain, she wasn’t keen on putting herself through unnecessary suffering right now. 

                “For women, it’s usually the shoulder or upper arm, lower back or hips, or stomach area.  Anywhere that’s a soft spot.  There’s more discomfort if a bone is directly under the skin you want tattooed, like the top of the foot.” He shrugged.  “But it differs from person to person.”

                Elise turned back to Dean.  “Does it matter where I get it?” Her question was serious.  He shook his head, but then squeezed her hand.  She checked his thoughts.  _Not on a finger or hand, nothing that would be, uh, easy to remove._   She shuddered.  Speaking to the tattoo artist, she gave her directions.  “I want it on my left hipbone, on the front.  That okay?”  He nodded, gestured to the chair, and began to set up his equipment.

                Elise let go of Dean and reclined in the chair, unbuttoning her jeans and pushing them down on the side.  She saw Dean watching her, but he was trying not to watch too closely.  She waited for his eyes to find her face and she winked at him.  He blushed, just slightly. 

                When the tattoo artist had everything set up, he sat down next to her, ready to begin.  He handed her a towel.  “You’ll need to expose the skin a bit more,” he said, gesturing at her jeans.  “You can throw the towel over your lap and move your jeans down.  It’ll be easier and give me more space to work.”  Dean was looking a little agitated, and Elise listened to his thoughts.  He was possessive; he didn’t like this guy working so close to her, especially when she had her pants halfway off.  The tattooist seemed to notice.  “Nothing to worry about, dude,” he said to Dean.  “I see a lot of skin in here, and I still go home to my own partner every night.”

                Dean relaxed, and Elise settled into the chair.  When the needle started to pierce her skin a few minutes later, she gripped the arms of the chair, flinching at some of the more sensitive spots.  “You alright?” Dean asked, his face concerned. 

                “It stings,” she admitted.  “It’s not fun, but I’ve put up with worse pain.”  She looked up at him and found him watching her closely. 

                “Hold her hand,” the tattoo artist advised.  “Most people find it helps.”

                Dean was behind the guy, so when he rolled his eyes, the tattoo artist didn’t see it.  He stepped closer to Elise, pulling over a small stool and sitting beside her.  He held out his hand to her, winking when she took it.  “So, babe, what do you want to talk about?  We’ll keep your mind off the tattoo for a bit,” he offered.  In his head, Dean was trying to find something to make her laugh. 

                “Tell me something about Sam,” she suggested, squeezing his hand.  Dean’s mind immediately started running through a million different things, and she let them flow through her, looking for something that made her curious.  “What’s the story with the clowns?” she asked when she saw the curly-haired character in the sequence of Dean’s thoughts.

                Dean grinned.  “Sammy hates clowns,” he told her.  “Always has.”  He focussed on the thought, showing her memories of Sam, always freaked out by anything that had a clown on it.  “We worked a job at a Plucky Pennywhistle’s a while back,” he went on, explaining the story she was seeing in his head.  “Sam had to, uh, try to track down a couple of guys who worked as clowns,” Dean told her, cleaning up the spoken part of the story, so that the tattoo artist wouldn’t get dragged into their world.  The memory she saw, though, told her everything.  “When he got to the end of the job, one of the clowns threw glitter all over him.  He was coated, head to toe, in glitter.  It was awesome.”

                Elise giggled, seeing Sam as Dead did, sparkling in the lights outside the restaurant.  His face was twisted into a disapproving expression – bitch face, Dean’s memory supplied – and everything about him was glittery.  When he moved, the shiny bits trickled off him like water, dripping from his hair and his clothes. 

                Dean kept talking then, telling her story after story, giving her a look into their lives over the years.  He kept the stories light and fun, intentionally skipping the heavy stuff, letting her concentrate on laughing while the tattoo artist inked her skin.  By the time he was done, Elise knew a great deal more about the Winchesters, and even about Cas.  She felt like she’d read the Book of Winchester.

                “You want to have a look at your new art before I bandage it?”  The tattoo artist’s question was unexpected.  “There’s a full length mirror over there,” he gestured toward the wall.  “I’ve got to step out and grab some gauze.” 

                Elise let go of Dean’s hand, reaching beneath the towel on her lap to grab her jeans.  She tugged them up, just a little, and stood, moving toward the mirror.  Her hip was still exposed, as was half of her butt cheek.  She looked at herself in the mirror, blank ink stark against her pale skin, and grinned.  “I like it,” she said.  “It looks good, I think.”

                Behind her, Dean cleared his throat.  “Yeah,” he said.  She turned, finding him looking at her hungrily, his eyes on her bare butt.

                “Dean,” she said, embarrassed.

                His eyes slid to her hipbone, and he moved to stand behind her.  He reached, slowly, so that she’d see what he was doing, and traced the freshly drawn black lines, watching her in the mirror, so gently that she could barely feel his touch.  “It does look good,” he said, voice husky.  Even that bare touch, the light brush of his fingers, was enough to transmit his desire to her.  She shivered, leaning her head back against his chest.

                “Okay, so,” the tattoo artist interrupted, “here’s the cream you’ll need to use on the tattooed skin.  Make sure you wash with unscented soap, and be gentle.”  Elise and Dean moved apart, both blushing, as the tattooist continued.  “If you come over here, I’ll wrap it up and give you the rest of the directions.”

                Dean spoke up.  “I’ll, uh, wait out front, okay?”  He left the room quickly, and Elise smiled at the tattoo artist. 

                “Sorry,” she said, sheepish about what had nearly happened.

                “Happens all the time,” he answered.  “I’ve come back more than once to find people making out after they get inked.”  He shrugged.  “As long as no one has sex in my chair, I’m good with it.”  Elise blushed again, wondering how far things would have gone in another few minutes.  She shook off that thought, and listened carefully to the tattoo artist, trying really hard not to think about Dean.

 

 

                The drive back from the shop was awkward.  Both Elise and Dean felt it; Dean turned up the radio to cover the silence, and Elise looked out the window as if her life depended on it.  Close to the bunker, though, Dean pulled the car off the road, finding an isolated spot on the edge of a field.  Elise turned to him.

                “So, what happened back there,” he began, hand running through his hair.  “I shouldn’t have done that.”

                Elise took a breath.  So much was at stake today – the faceoff with Crowley was just minutes away, and she was more than a little worried about it – and Dean was worrying about touching her.  She smiled.  “Can we try something?”

                Dean looked confused, but agreed.  Elise reached out and took his hand, turning it so that the palm faced her, and she pressed it against the crook of her neck.  This time, rather than try to send him words, she concentrated on a feeling.  She recalled the way she felt when he’d touched her skin, how heat had immediately surged through her body, centering beneath his fingertips.  Dean inhaled sharply, and his eyes, wide and green, met hers.  “Can you feel that?” she asked, squeezing his fingers gently. 

                “Yeah,” he breathed.  “I can.”

                “So you know that I felt it too, whatever this is becoming between us,” she said.  “And that I’m okay with you touching me.”

                “I’ve never…” Dean started, and then he faltered.  She waited, letting him get his thoughts together.  “I’ve never really felt anything like this.  I mean, I’ve felt, uh, things, for other women, but it’s different with you.  Sharper, somehow.”

                Elise nodded.  “I know,” she agreed.  “Me too.”

                Dean leaned in then, slowly, keeping eye contact with her, until he was an inch away from her lips.  “Is this okay?” he asked.  His voice was rocky, taut with emotion and want. 

                Her eyes flicked down to his lips, then she moved forward, closing the gap between them.  The kiss was soft at first, just bare touches of lips, gasps of air between them.  Then, with each touch, it deepened, tongues and teeth and so much desire that Elise’s head was flooded with it.  She could feel the wanting that was at the core of Dean’s thoughts, and she was sure that he could feel it in her as well.  She sank into the kiss, letting him pull her body toward his across the seat of the car, making small sounds of pleasure as his hands ran smoothly down her back.  Dean’s thoughts were clear and focussed and needy – _want this want you skin so soft_ – and Elise smiled against his mouth, echoing the thoughts back to him.

                They broke apart after a few minutes, both of them breathing hard, lips pink and cheeks flushed.  “We should get back,” Dean managed to say, shifting in his seat.  His eyes flickered back to her mouth, and he spoke again.  “Although I’d just as soon stay here.”

                Elise laughed, her voice breathy and broken with wanting.  “Me too,” she said.  “But yeah, I guess we need to go back and face this mess head on.”

                Dean reached across the seat to touch her hand.  “When this is over,” he told her, “we’ll have some time.”  She nodded, and he put the car in gear, pulling back onto the road.  She closed her eyes, gathering her thoughts, trying to focus on what she was about to do.  It was time to meet a demon.  She steeled herself, trying not to think about the last demon she’d dealt with, trying to block out the images of his knife on her skin. 

                “Hey,” Dean said, pulling her out of her thoughts.  “We’re almost there.  You ready?”

                She straightened her shoulders.  “Bring it on,” she said.  “Let’s go deal with Crowley.”


	10. Crowley

                When they walked into the bunker, Elise knew that Crowley was already there.  She could feel the tension that was radiating from Sam, even though she couldn’t see him yet.  She touched Dean’s hand, stopping him.  When he looked at her, she directed a thought at him.  _Don’t tell Crowley that I can send you my thoughts.  We might need to use that to our advantage._ Dean nodded, and she squeezed his hand.  “Let’s go,” she said, trying not to let the fear that was welling up inside her take over. 

                Dean let go of her hand, and they walked into the main room.  Sam was there, sitting at a table, and he smiled at them as they came in.  Castiel was there as well, looking stoic in his trench coat.  A third man stood at the end of the tables, dressed all in black, watching her carefully. 

                Sam started with small talk.  “Did you get it done?” he asked Elise. 

                “Yeah,” she said.  “I’m good.”  He nodded and opened his mouth to ask something else, but he didn’t get the chance.

                “Enough chit chat,” the stranger interrupted, walking around the table to where Elise was standing.  Dean was next to Elise, and he shifted slightly, ready to step in.  “I believe it’s time that I meet your new friend, Squirrel.”

                Dean’s voice was icy.  “This is Elise,” he said. 

                “Hello darling,” he said, speaking directly to her.  Her whole body was tight, on edge, just standing this close to him.  “I’m Crowley, the King of Hell.”

                Elise tipped her head to one side, studying him.  “You know, there’s something I’ve seen in a million movies that I’ve always wanted to try.”  She paused, smiling sweetly.  “Would you mind?”  Before he could react, she swung her arm with all the force she could muster and slapped him across the face.  Her palm stung from the impact, and she could see a red mark form immediately on his face.  She turned to Dean, who was grinning wildly.  “It is exactly as satisfying as I thought it would be.”  Sam smirked, and she could hear him cheering in his head.  She turned back to Crowley.  “I know who you are.  Don’t call me darling.”

                As she stepped away from him, he spoke.  “I like her,” he said.

                Dean snorted.  “Pretty sure the feeling’s not mutual, Crowley.”

                “Enough.”  The voice that cut in was deep and gravelly.  “We need to get to work,” Castiel told them.  “Crowley, do not antagonize Elise.”

                “You saw that, Feathers – I was perfectly civil and she slapped me,” Crowley complained.  “How am I at fault here?”

                “Oh, I don’t know, Crowley,” Sam cut in.  “How about the fact that you had her tortured?”

                “I did no such thing,” the demon said, looking offended.  “We’ve only just met.”

                “When we met her,” Sam said, looking irritated, “she’d been strung up by one of your flunkies, and he’d been doing his best to cut information out of her.  With a knife.”

                “I did not authorize any such thing,” Crowley insisted.

                “No?” Elise spoke up.  “Maybe you just told him to use his fists?  Which he did, of course.  And a leather strap.  And he had some kind of shock box there, and some mind-destroying truth serum.”

                Crowley shook his head.  “Look, I told the stupid bastard to find the girl who knew about the book and hold her until I arrived.  I did not authorize any torture of any kind.”  He looked at Elise.  “Besides, you don’t look any worse for wear, and the idiot demon who tortured you is dead – so all in all, a win for you, I suppose.”

                Elise clenched her fists.  She was about to speak when Dean started in on Crowley.  “None the worse for wear?”  He advanced toward the demon.  “She was covered in cuts, long slashes that needed about a hundred stitches.  He broke her ribs.  He’d whipped her raw.  She couldn’t stand up for days.  If Cas hadn’t healed her yesterday, she’d still be in bed.”  Dean’s eyes narrowed as he stared Crowley down.  “I don’t care if you’re our best chance at getting Lucifer back in the cage.  If you so much as look at her the wrong way, I’ll kill you myself, Crowley.”  He paused.  “And if we hear or you or any of your demons torturing humans again, we’ll be coming for you.”

                Crowley waved his hand.  “Yes yes, you’ll kill me, send me back to hell, blah blah blah.”  His slid his hands into his coat’s pockets, unfazed by Dean’s threat.  “But for now, we have business to conduct.”  He turned back to Elise.  “My dear, I’m so very sorry for your previous treatment.  Now, let us talk about the book.”

                Elise reached out and put a hand on Dean’s arm, tugging him back from Crowley.  At the same time, she thought hard.  _I’m not admitting anything about the book to him unless we agree._ “I’m not sure what you think it is that I know, Crowley,” she said, still touching Dean.  “What book are you talking about?”

                “Don’t play dumb with me,” he said, voice sharp.  “I know you have the book.  And we need it to defeat the devil.  So hand it over and let’s get that wayward angel back in the depths of hell, where he belongs.”

                “And is that all you want with the book?” Elise shot back.  “Just to return Lucifer to hell?  Nothing else?”  She stared at him, defiant. 

                “What else is there?”  Crowley raised his hands.  “Look, Lucifer is a giant pain in my ass.  I want him gone.”

                Not for the first time in her life, Elise wished she could read the thoughts of demons.  If she could find the truth in Crowley’s words, she could better decide what to do.  She had no doubt that he really wanted to get rid of Lucifer, but she wasn’t willing to trust him with the book.  The risk was far too great.  She remembered seeing Crowley in Dean and Sam’s memories, and she knew he would do anything to get what he wanted. 

                “You do have the book,” Crowley stated.  “Or, at least, you know where it is.”

                Elise looked at Sam, and then at Dean.  He nodded.

                “I do,” she admitted. 

                “Have you read it?”  Crowley pressed on. 

                “Yes.”

                “And is there, or is there not, a spell in there that will let me amass enough power to take down the devil?”

                Another look at Dean.  Elise exhaled.  “Yes.” 

                “Then what’s the bloody problem?”  Crowley shouted at them all, exasperated.  “We’ve been trying to deal with Lucifer for months.  Months!  The solution’s right there, and we could take care of this today.  It could be over, if she’d just give me the damn book!”  He was really wound up, and was shouting like he meant to throttle Elise. 

                Elise refused to back down.  She simply stood there, eyebrows raised, and let Crowley yell.  Before he could start on a second rant, Castiel had crossed the room.  He stood in front of Crowley, eyes blazing.

                “No one is giving you the book, Crowley,” he stated, his voice like iron.  “We will examine the problem, and we will find a solution.  But I promise that it will not involve giving you the book.”  Crowley threw up his hands.  He was ready to start again when Sam spoke up.

                “We need to sit down and talk about this,” he said.  “Yelling isn’t getting us anywhere.”  He shot a glance at Crowley, then turned back to the group.  “Everyone grab a chair, and let’s work this through.”

 

 

                Despite the tension that filled the room, they did manage to sit down and figure a few things out.  Crowley definitely did not know the full truth about the book, which made Elise feel an awful lot better.  He did, however, have one of his demons working undercover in Lucifer’s entourage, and he told them that Lucifer did know that he’d been looking for the book, and for Elise.  She shuddered, and Dean touched her arm.  His thoughts were comforting; he planned to keep her safe.  She tried to relax as best she could.

                Elise was very glad that no one seemed interested in letting Crowley anywhere near the book.  Sam, most of all, was adamant that Crowley be kept away from the book.  Elise tried not to listen, but Sam was focused on something that had happened a few years back.  He was thinking about a boy named Kevin, and Crowley’s fixation on a stone tablet.  Sam’s thoughts were dark, and they ended with death and distrust.  He kept it all off his face, but he glanced at Elise, wondering if she was hearing him.  She offered him a small smile, and nodded in agreement.  She’d make sure that Crowley would not get near the book.

                After a great deal of bickering, they came to the conclusion that Crowley would continue to gather information about Lucifer.  If they could find a way to use the book against him, they’d need to know where he was.  Elise had another suggestion.  “Maybe Crowley could get Lucifer off my path?” She looked to Dean and Sam for support.  “Could he be seen far away from here, and send some of his lackeys to look for me on the other side of the country?”

                Sam nodded.  “That’s a good idea,” he agreed.  “Crowley?”

                Crowley rolled his eyes.  “Lucifer isn’t an idiot, unlike you two.”  Dean’s jaw tightened, but he stayed quiet.  “I’ll do it, but I doubt it will work.”

                “It’s worth trying,” Dean said. 

                “And what about the book?” Crowley was still pushing for access to the book, but they all knew that was too dangerous.

                “The book will stay hidden,” Elise said, firmly.  She looked at Crowley, giving him her best intense glare.  “If we find a time and a place to attack Lucifer, then we’ll worry about the book.”

                Castiel had stayed quiet throughout most of the meeting, but he spoke now, weighing in with his opinion.  “That is the safest bet,” he said.  “If Lucifer is on our trail, giving anyone access to the book bears too much risk.”

                The meeting broke up then, with Crowley disappearing instantly, Castiel flying off to look into something he heard on angel radio, and Sam hurrying to raise the wards that would keep Crowley from returning unexpectedly.  With everyone gone, Elise turned to Dean.  “I need to go get the book,” she said.

                His eyebrows shot up. 

                “I know it’s a risk, but I think I should have a closer look at how the process of taking the demons’ powers operates,” she explained.  “I read it, and I remember the basics, but there’s more to that than I can recall.  I think there’s, like, a whole section of extra information.  There might be something there that can help us.”

                Dean nodded.  “Alright,”  he said.  “But you’re not going alone.”  Elise started to argue, but Dean raised a hand to stop her.  “You heard Crowley – Lucifer is looking for you.  Until today, you didn’t know that angels even existed.  Are you prepared to fight the most powerful angel on the planet?”

                “No,” she admitted.

                “So I’ll go with you,” he said.  “We’ll do it together.  Sam and Cas can stay here and do more research on the situation, try to find a way to get the drop on Lucifer.”

                Elise held her breath for a moment, imagining the trip.  She’d be alone with Dean for a few days, for hours of driving, and there would be nothing to distract them from each other.  She thought of him earlier, in his car, his mouth hot against hers, and she wanted desperately to leave all of this behind and just take off with Dean.  But for now, she’d settle for a few days of alone time, even if it was on what might be a suicidal task.  She lifted her eyes to his. 

                “Road trip?”

                Dean nodded.  “Road trip.”


	11. Sweet Dreams

                Within a couple of hours, Elise and Dean were on the road.  Sam had been skeptical, but he could see the logic in Elise’s plan.  He had insisted, however, on a weapons training session with Elise before she left.  While Dean grabbed supplies, Sam took her to the weapons room to set her up.

                “Have you fired a gun before?”  Sam pulled a silver handgun from its place and checked it over as he spoke.

                “Years ago,” Elise answered, counting back.  “When I was a teenager.  I fired rifles more than handguns, though.”

                Sam raised an eyebrow, but continued.  He showed her how to remove the magazine and load it, how to chamber a round, and how to hold the handgun.  He made sure she knew how to carry it safely, then gestured for her to follow him.  The door he opened led to a shooting range.  “Let’s see what you can do,” he said.

                Elise stepped to the firing point.  It had been years, but she was pretty sure she could still do this.  She levelled the weapon, using her weaker hand to support her dominant one, and checked her sights.  Squeezing the trigger gently, she fired a single round, then, after a quick pause, fired a number of shots down the range.  When the clip was empty, she lowered the weapon. 

                “Not bad,” Sam said, pulling the line that brought the target in to them.  A couple of shots were outside the grouping, but the rest were consistent, centered in the chest of the paper man.  “That’ll work.”  He held his hand out for the weapon, and Elise handed it over, grip first.  “Let’s get you some more ammo, give you a few with devil’s traps carved into them for demon control, and find you an angel blade.  Then you’ll be ready.”

                Once Sam had given her the gear he felt she needed, he walked her back to the library.  Dean was there, his bag packed, waiting for her.  “Ready?” he asked.

                “Just give me a few minutes to throw my stuff in a bag,” she replied.  She was carrying the supplies Sam had given her, and she showed them to Dean.  “Besides this, I figure I’ll still need a toothbrush and some clean clothes.”

                Dean threw a sharp look at Sam, who shrugged and smirked.  “Really, Sam?”

                “Yeah, Dean.  She needs to be able to defend herself,” Sam answered.  “Besides, she’d fired guns before.  Her grouping was good.  She’s not a rookie.”

                Dean huffed out a sigh.  “Fine.”  He gestured at Elise.  “Go grab your stuff so we can get going.” 

 

 

                They were in the car fifteen minutes later, with Elise riding shotgun.  “So, now that we’re driving, where are we going?”

                “South,” she replied.  “We’re heading to Dallas, then on to Shreveport.”

                “Louisiana?”  Dean asked.

                “Yeah,” she answered.  “It’s a long drive.  Sorry.”

                Dean smiled at her.  “The drive doesn’t bother me.”  Elise paused a moment, and she could actually feel the happiness radiating from him.  “There’s nothing better than a drive in my Baby.  But why Shreveport?”

                “Well, when we tracked down the book, it was almost on the other side of the country,” she said.  “We wanted to move it a long distance to lose anyone who was tracking us.  And we had to find a good place to hide it, which meant finding the money for the security system, so we had to keep moving until we tracked down someone we could get the money from,” Elise explained. 

                “Shreveport’s a pretty long drive,” Dean said.  “About ten hours, I think.  We’ll do the first part of it today, and we’ll find a motel when it gets dark.”

                Elise’s skin tingled at the thought of sharing a motel room with Dean.  “Sounds good,” she said, glad that he couldn’t hear what she was thinking.  She tried to keep her traitorous thoughts from exploring the idea of a night with Dean, but her mind was quick to roam.  Her face flushed, and she turned to look out the window, avoiding Dean’s eyes. 

                Dean turned up the music, blasting Bob Seger.  Elise smiled, thinking of the memories Dean had showed her of his time in the car with Sam.  “Driver picks the music?” she asked, laughter in her voice.

                “Shotgun shuts her cakehole,” Dean finished, laughing with her. 

                “Actually, I like this,” Elise said, humming along with the track. 

                Dean glanced over at her, appreciation clear in his expression.  “Yeah?” he asked, smiling.  “You good with AC/DC and Zepplin, too?”

                “Definitely,” she said.  Dean reached over, turning up the music.  Elise settled back into the seat, ready for a long drive.

 

 

                “Hey.”  A warm hand gripped her arm, shaking her gently.  “Elise.”  Thoughts flooded through her immediately.  She saw herself, mouth slightly open, lips parted and moist.  Her cheeks were flushed with sleep.  Then, in the thoughts, she saw Dean, leaning in to brush his lips against hers, softly asking her to wake up.  The hand released her arm and she jolted into alertness at the loss of the images.

                “You with me now?”  She blushed.  Dean smiled at her, unaware that she’d seen his thoughts this time.  “I didn’t want to leave you sleeping in the car when I went to check in.”

                Elise stretched.  “When did I fall asleep?”

                “About two hours ago, so just after we ate,” he said. 

                “Sorry.”  She’d meant to stay awake, to keep Dean company. 

                "Don’t worry about it,” he answered.  “You seemed pretty tired.  You’ve been through a lot lately.  Your brain probably just needed a break.”  Dean stepped out of the vehicle, stretching.  Elise caught a glimpse of the stretch of skin above his waistband, and she blushed again.  Whatever this was between them, she needed to get a grip on it.  All of this blushing was making her feel ridiculous.

                She followed Dean into the motel’s office.  “Can we get a room?”  Dean smiled at the attendant, a young man who looked bored out of his mind. 

                “Sure,” the guy replied. 

                “Listen,” Dean spoke again.  “Can we get a room that’s down on the end?  With a parking spot out front?”

                “No problem, dude,” the guy answered, glancing at Elise over Dean’s shoulder.  “You guys want some privacy?”

                Elise blushed again.  Three times in under five minutes; she figured that was a new record for her.  “Two beds, please,” she said, keeping her distance from Dean. 

                The guy behind the desk looked at her, then looked back at Dean.  “Uh huh,” he said.  He ran Dean’s credit card and handed it back to him, along with the room key.  “Check out’s at 11.”

                Outside, they got back in the car.  Dean moved it to the space in front of their room, then reached into the backseat for their bags.  When he opened the door, he cursed.  “Asshole.”

                “What?” Elise asked, still behind Dean. 

                “There’s only one bed in here,” Dean told her, voice tense. 

                Elise moved around Dean, looking into the room.  The room had one bed, queen sized, and above it, there was a mirror on the ceiling.  The place looked like a 1972 love shack, with shag carpeting and dated colors, and she was pretty sure the box by the bed was for the magic fingers.  She sighed. 

                “I’ll go back and change the room,” Dean told her, obviously annoyed. 

                “No,” she said, reaching out to touch his arm.  “Seriously, we’re just going to sleep a few hours and drive again, right?  We’ll deal with it.”  He looked at her, his face questioning.  “Dean, I’m too tired.  It’s a big bed.  We can share, right?”  Her hand was touching his wrist, just a flash of bare skin, so she could feel him clearly.  He wanted to share the bed, but at the same time, he was worried about what that could mean.  “No funny business, Dean.  Just sleeping.”  She smiled at him, hoping to relax him.

                “Are you sure?” he asked, concerned.

                “I’m sure,” she replied.  He reached behind him to shut the door. 

                Twenty minutes later, Elise was under the covers.  She’d brushed her teeth and changed into a t-shirt and shorts for sleeping.  Dean, on the other hand, was sitting across the room, still fully clothed.

                “You planning to take off a few of those layers before bed?” Elise asked, sitting up to make eye contact.

                Dean shook his head.  “I’ll sleep on the couch.” 

                Elise looked at the piece of furniture.  “Dean, that’s not a couch.  It’s barely big enough to be called a loveseat.  And you’re, what, a little over six feet tall?” She rolled her eyes.  “Don’t be ridiculous.  Come get in bed.  There’s more than enough space.”

                Dean sighed and took off his coat, then toed off his shoes.  He sat on the bed, then lay back, on top of the covers. 

                Elise reached over and grabbed his arm, making sure to get his skin.  _If you don’t get in bed right now, I’m going to sleep on the floor.  Take off the jeans and plaid shirt, and get in bed._   Dean jolted at the intrusion into his thoughts.  She listened to him while she was touching him, and she knew he didn’t want to pressure her into anything, didn’t want to make her uncomfortable.  She grabbed one of the pillows and shoved it between them, making a barrier.  “There,” she said, laughing out loud.  “If it makes you feel better, I’ll stay on this side of the pillow and you can have that side.”

                Reluctantly, Dean stood up, took off his plaid shirt, and then unbuttoned his jeans.  Elise was tempted to make stripper music noises at him, to try to make him laugh and relax, but she could feel the tension radiating off him, so she refrained, rolling over so that her back was to him.  She felt the covers lift and his body weight settled into the mattress.  After a moment, he was still. 

                “Good night, Dean,” she said softly.

                “Night, Elise,” he replied.

                Within minutes, they were both sound asleep.

 

 

                Elise was dreaming, but it wasn’t her dream.  She was watching someone else’s dream.  Here, there was a small boy, blond and adorable and funny, laughing while a blonde lady played with him in a park.  The lady tickled the little boy, blowing raspberries onto his belly, letting him roll in the sweet-smelling grass while she watched him, the smile on her face huge and welcoming.  “My beautiful boy,” she called him.  “Dean.”

                Elise jolted, even in her sleep. She was in Dean’s dreams, in Dean’s head, and she was trapped there.  She couldn’t shake herself loose, so she had to watch Dean’s subconscious thoughts take shape.

                The dream began to change.  The blonde lady, his mother, began to float away from the boy, and he reached for her, calling out “Mommy!  Mommy!”  He started to cry, and then his mother, flat against the ceiling, burst into flames, her mouth open and screaming.

                It changed again, taking them to another time and place.  Dean was older, but now, he was pinned in place by hooks and barbs that pierced his skin.  Blood welled from the cuts and wounds, and as he begged for help, for release, it bubbled between his lips.  “Please, someone, help me!  Sam?  Sammy?”  he cried, over and over, his voice raw and aching.  Elise couldn’t bear it; she was desperate to wake.  Even in her dream she felt Dean’s emotions wash over her, and these dreams were painful.                

                As Dean screamed and writhed on the hooks, Elise heard a voice.  It was refined, slow, and sadistic.  “Are you ready to give me what I want, Dean?” The voice had the slightest of lisps, and she shuddered at the naked desire behind it.  This was a creature that thrived on pain, and Dean’s suffering was his favorite flavour.  “All you have to do is take the knife, Dean.  Then this will all end.”  Dean screamed, refusing to give in, but Elise could feel him breaking even as he fought back.  He would give in, and it would be soon.

                The dream shifted yet again.  Dean was standing in front of Sam, telling him he didn’t want a chick-flick moment.  He was smiling, but on the inside, he was screaming.  His mind was in turmoil.  He was doing the right thing, but he wanted, so badly, not to go.  He knew he was going to die, and that Sam would live, wracked with guilt and longing.  Dean wanted to scream, to cry, to refuse to be the one, but he knew he had to save the world, and the weight of that was crushing.  As he hugged Sam, Elise began to gasp for breath, the pressure becoming too much.

                She struggled to consciousness, sweaty and breathing hard.  In the night, the pillow between them had been shoved aside, and Dean’s leg had ended up under hers, giving her direct access to his thoughts.  She’d forgotten about that risk when she slept with someone; it had been so long since it had been a concern.  She yanked her leg back, breaking the connection to Dean’s dreams.  Next to her, he was restless, muttering quietly, his face troubled.  “No, Sammy,” she heard, and then, after a pause, more sharply, “Cas! Don’t!”  She hesitated, but then touched him again, plunging back into his dream. 

                This time, Cas stood above Dean in an alleyway.  He was angry, all his stoic calm dissolved, and he was on the attack.  He was beating Dean, and with each blow, Elise felt Dean’s pain.  Her body pulsed in sympathy.  Castiel towered over Dean, and Dean knew this could be his end.  He raised a hand, pleading, asking the angel to stop.  He was desperate, in all kinds of pain, feeling betrayed by his friend.  Beneath that, though, lay something more painful.  Elise paused, following the thought, letting Dean’s sleeping brain take her into his psyche.  Under it all, Dean almost wanted Castiel to continue, to beat him to death, to give him the ending he deserved.  Because Dean, who had saved the world over and over, felt like he wasn’t worth saving.  He felt like he should die, aching and bloody, for his failures.

                Elise pulled her hand away, tears on her face.  She forced herself out of his thoughts, walling off her mind so that she wouldn’t pick up anything else.  She wiped her face quickly, and caught her breath.  “Dean.”  She spoke quietly, but firmly.  “Wake up.” She didn’t want to touch his skin, to see anything more.  She grabbed his shoulder, still covered by his shirt, and shook him gently.  “Wake up, Dean.” 

                Green eyes opened quickly.  In an instant he was wide awake and on full alert, adrenaline rushing through his system from the nightmares he’d been wrapped in.  He flipped her, pushing her beneath him, pinning her body with his, holding her wrists beneath his hands.  He was breathing hard, ready to fight.  Elise’s resolve to stay out of his thoughts disappeared as she lay wide-eyed beneath him, hearing his thoughts race.

                “You were having a nightmare,” she said, voice quiet.  “I woke you up.”  He was touching her, and his body was full of tension, so she used the link between them to show him that she wasn’t a threat.  She thought about being calm and peaceful, so he’d feel it radiating from her.  “It’s okay,” she assured him.

                Slowly, Dean realized where he was.  He blinked, then his body began to relax, lowering against hers.  She could feel his muscles uncoil, the grip on her arms loosening.  He dropped against her, letting his head rest against her shoulder.  He exhaled, a long, slow breath.  She turned her head to rest her cheek against his hair.  They stayed that way for a moment.

                Then Dean rolled off of her, sitting up and rubbing his hands across her face.  “Sorry,” he muttered. 

                Elise sat up next to him, and reached to touch his back.  She put her hand there, gently.  He relaxed into her touch, so she began to rub slow circles into his back.  “It’s okay,” she said.  “I’ve had my fair share of nightmares, Dean.  I understand.”

                “I doubt you’d understand these,” he snorted, bitter. 

                She kept her hand moving.  “I understand more than you think,” she said.  “We, uh, were touching in our sleep.” 

                Dean turned to look at her.   “What?”

                She smiled, sadly.  “My leg was over yours.  I woke up when I realized I was watching your dreams.”  Dean wanted to pull away from her, she could tell.  She dropped her hand from his back.  “I’m sorry.  It’s like the ultimate invasion of privacy.”

                The room was silent.  Dean turned so that his legs were over the side of the bed, feet on the floor.  He buried his face in his hands, thinking.  Elise was careful to stay out of his thoughts.  After a few minutes, he spoke.  “It doesn’t happen as much anymore,” he said.  “When…” He swallowed.  “When I got back from Hell, I couldn’t sleep without waking up like this.  Sweaty, full of panic, afraid.  It took a long time for me to stop dreaming that way.”  He took a breath.  “Now, it only happens once in a while.  It’s still awful.”

                Elise wanted, so badly, to wrap her arms around Dean and hold him.  She wasn’t sure he’d want that, though, so she stayed where she was, waiting for him to continue. 

                “I never remember what the dreams were about,” he said.  “That’s the worst part.  I wake up, and I know it was awful and painful and horrible, but I can’t really remember what it was.” 

                Elise moved then, unable to stay away from him.  She sat behind him, letting her legs fall on either side of him.  She pressed her body against his back, wrapping her arms around his middle.  He stiffened, but then relaxed into her hold.  The tension in his body relaxed, but his mind did not.  She let her head fall against his shoulder.

                “I can tell you, if you want,” she said, quietly.  “If you think it will help, if it will let you move on, I’ll tell you what I saw.”

                “Was it…” Dean trailed off.  “I feel like it wasn’t just one thing.”

                She shook her head against his back.  “No,” she told him.  “It was a bunch of different dreams, and they felt more like memories, for the most part.  If you know what they are, it might take away the panic you feel when you wake.”

                Dean exhaled, a long, slow breath that shook in the middle.  “Tell me,” he said.  His hand found hers and squeezed. 

                She tightened her hold around his waist and began to speak.


	12. Warded

                In the morning, Elise expected things to be awkward.  She’d seen some of Dean’s deepest fears, the ones that were buried so deeply that his subconscious was the only thing that could bring them up.  And then she’d told him, piece by piece, what those fears were, and held him while he tried not to let those terrifying fragments of his past destroy him.  She expected Dean to avoid all eye contact, to deny the depth of the feelings he experienced last night, to feel uncomfortable and violated. 

                Why did she expect this?  Because it’s what she’d be doing, had someone taken a joyride through the most damaged parts of her psyche.  She’d be doing her level best not to have any sort of meaningful conversation for a while, especially when there was so much lingering sexual tension between the two of them.  Something in Dean just appealed to her, and she knew the feeling was mutual.  But there are few things in life as awkward as the morning after you find out all of a person’s deepest, darkest fears.

                Elise wasn’t surprised when she woke up and found Dean had already gotten out of bed.  He had showered and was pulling on his shoes when she sat up.

                “Hey,” he said, looking directly at his shoelaces.  “I’m going to go find some breakfast.  You want anything?”

                “Coffee,” she said, blearily.  “And a muffin, please.”

                Dean stood, shrugging on his jacket.  “Right.”  Without making eye contact, he grabbed his keys and left the room.  Elise sighed.  It was going to be a long day.  She rolled out of bed and headed to the shower. 

 

 

 

                When she was dressed and ready, she stepped from the bathroom.  Dean had been back; his bag was gone.  She packed her gear quickly and opened the room’s door.  Dean was there, leaning on the car’s trunk, holding a coffee.

                “Ready?” he asked, still not looking at her. 

                “Sure,” she said.  She walked to the passenger side, threw her bag in the backseat, and went to slide into the car.  Dean stopped her.

                “Elise,” he said, his voice uncertain.  He was looking at her over the roof of the car, standing by the driver’s side door.  “Last night…”  Dean’s voice trailed off.  His uncertainty was almost palpable, and Elise didn’t want to make him any more uncomfortable.  She let her guard down, listening for his thoughts, making an effort to hear what he couldn’t quite say.  “Uh…” Dean tried again.  “Those dreams,” he started, “they don’t… I mean, they aren’t…”

                Elise waited.  Dean wanted her to know he wasn’t upset with her.  He also wanted her to know that those things were, for the most part, real, which is why they scared him so much.

                “They weren’t just dreams,” he finally said.  “Most of it happened.  Or, at least, that’s how I remember it.  Some things aren’t clear anymore, but those things happened.”

                “Okay,” she said, still waiting.  There was something else he needed to say, and this was the part that was worrying him.

                “The part in Hell,” Dean said.  He was looking at his hands, which had clenched into fists.  “I took the knife,” he told her, and his pain peaked there.  “I couldn’t fight anymore, not after all that time, and I did what they asked.  I took the knife.”  Elise knew what that meant.  She’d felt it in his dreams, that he’d soon be the one cutting and slicing and sawing, and she felt the agony that it brought to him.  “You should know.  I’m not,” he swallowed thickly.  “I’m not a good person.”

                Elise felt her own heart break then.  “Oh, Dean,” she said, her voice impossibly sad.  “I know it’s hard to feel that way.”  She stepped around the car, moving to stand beside him.  He couldn’t look at her.  She could feel his struggle, his need to tell her, his fear that she’d reject him, his own self-loathing at what he’d done.  “I felt it, you know,” she said, quietly.  “In your dream.  I felt your pain.  It ripped through me like lightning.  You held out a long time, then you did what you needed to do.  I could feel that too – your desperation, your guilt.”  She paused, and she stood on her toes to lean in and touch Dean’s face, gently.  He didn’t move, but he let her touch him.  She concentrated on her feeling, which was understanding and acceptance, and she tried to let him feel that.  “I’m not judging you, Dean.   Don’t be ashamed.  You did the best you could, and then more besides.”  She stayed that way, directing her warm feelings through their connection for a moment longer. 

                Dean sighed, leaning his cheek into her hand.  “I just… thought you should know.”

                “Alright,” she said, letting her thumb stroke his cheek.  “I understand.”

                Dean stepped back then, away from her, and opened the car door.  “Your coffee’s inside,” he said, “and I got you a blueberry muffin.  The chocolate chip one is for me.”

                Elise walked around the car and slid into her seat.  The drive would be a little bit awkward, but they’d be okay.  “We’ll see about that,” she said, smiling at him and reaching for the bag.  He smiled back, just a small smile, and started the car. 

               

 

               

                They reached Shreveport by noon, and drove directly to the apartment where the book was hidden.  It was a secure building, and Elise had to use a key fob to get in.  “First layer of security,” she told Dean, smirking.  They both knew that kind of protection wouldn’t mean anything to anyone who was hunting the book.

                The apartment was on the seventh floor.  In the elevator, Elise realized she felt tense; Dean was a little on edge too, his hand skimming the gun in his waistband once or twice, as if checked to be sure it was there.  When they reached their floor, Elise led the way to the apartment’s door. 

                “This is it,” she told Dean.  She spoke quietly.  “There are security cameras on each end of this hallway, so if anyone did get this far, we’d be able to check the footage.”  She pulled out a keyring, and unlocked the door.  It had two locks – a standard doorknob lock, and a deadbolt that had drive two separate shafts into the door, above and below the knob.  The door had steel-core construction, and the doorframe itself featured reinforced steelwork.  The average human wouldn’t be able to break it down.  “Remember what I told you about the doorknob?” She asked Dean.  Dean nodded.  She’d done some research and found a way to coat the doorknob with a holy water solution that would burn a demon’s skin when touched.  The door opened, and they stepped inside, closing and locking it again.  She dropped her bag, then crossed the room and punched a code on the alarm panel, which stopped the alarm system from alerting the company. 

                “There are sigils all around the door,” she told Dean.  “We wrote them in some special kind of oil that’s invisible, but still works.  The sigils act as wards.  I can enter, and because you’re with me and I’m not being threatened, you can enter.  If you had a gun on me or something like that, we wouldn’t be able to cross the wards.  If a demon tries to enter, the wards will prevent that.  Also, there’s a devil’s trap beneath this rug, so if by some chance the wards fail, that would trap a demon.  They wouldn’t be able to reach the alarm panel to disengage the alarm, and I’ve set the system so that if it goes off, it would immediately send a video feed to my cell phone.”  She pointed to the camera that was focused on the door.  “I’ve had the system customized so that if a demon’s in that trap, I can remotely exorcise them.  It lets me make audio contact with the system so I can read the ritual.”

                While she spoke, Dean had been checking her defenses.  He lifted the rug and checked the devil’s trap, ran his hand around the door to see if he could see the sigils, and then stared at the camera as if to check the angle.  “Seems secure,” he said.

                “You can have a key,” she told Dean.  “The apartment’s got towels and sheets and all that stuff, so it can be used as a sort of safe house when needed.  I can adjust the sigils to recognize you, since you’re here.”

                Dean nodded, absently.  “You figured all of this out?” he asked.

                “Yeah,” she said.  “Lots of research.  My friend and I spent months getting this ready.”

                “Where’s the book?”

                Elise tipped her head toward the kitchen.  “The panic room’s back there.  The book’s inside, and it’s warded again, but with a different set of sigils.  It’s in a warded box to keep it hidden from location spells.”  She led him through the apartment, stopping at a set of shelves.  The kitchen was neat; each shelf was lined with rows of items, like cookbooks or decorative bowls.  Elise lifted a canister marked sugar, and pressed her fingers on the wall behind it.  A panel popped open, revealing a keypad.  She punched a series of numbers, and the shelves swung outward, revealing the hidden room behind them.  She closed the panel and replaced the canister before entering the room.

                “It’s set up so that it doesn’t seem out of place.  Once I close this door, it can’t be opened without the code, and like the doorway, the wards recognize malicious intent.  I can’t enter the room if I’m being forced,” she explained.  “Inside, there’s an electrical line that’s independent of the house, and a burner phone with its charger.  There’s food and water, of course, in case we were trapped here.”  She gestured to the small space.  “We threw in a few blankets and a cot, too.” 

Dean checked the room.  He reached for the box that sat on the small table.  “Is this it?”

                She nodded.  He popped the latch and looked at the book.  It was bound in leather, and it wasn’t big; she’d expected a book that could let demons control the world to be huge, but it was no bigger than a high school textbook.  He opened the cover, looking through the pages.  “This is disgusting,” he said, barely touching the pages.  She knew he was thinking about the drawings, which had been done in human blood.  “Why can’t these crazy bastards use ink?”

                Elise moved to stand beside him.  “The pages we need are closer to the back,” she told him.  Dean flipped the pages.  “There,” she said.  When he stopped, she could see the illustration she remembered.  It showed a demon, his hands outstretched, with bands of black and red smoke circling him.  At his feet, bodies were prostrate.  It painted a grim picture of the possibilities they faced.

                “So,” Dean started, skimming the words.  “This says that a being can use this incantation to summon the powers of the world’s demons, and can use that power as it wishes.”  He turned the page, and Elise waited for him to read the next section.  “All that’s required is a pair of… focusing bands?” 

                Elise had known, when she let Dean come along with her, that he would learn the rest of the story.  She had decided to trust him with the information long ago, but just hadn’t told him what the objects were.  “Yes,” she said simply.  “A pair of bracelets.  One goes on each wrist.”  She pointed to the page of the book.  “It says that they act as an catalyst, allowing the demons’ powers to enter the host, and to be compounded with the other powers.  They’re like,” she searched for the words, “a lens that focuses light on a given point.  They are what let the host direct the power.”

                Dean looked closely at the illustration of the bracelets.  “You know where these are?” 

                “Yes.  They’re safe.  No one will find those, and as far was we know, you and I are the only people who know the bands are part of the process.”

                Dean nodded, still reading.  “It’s driven by blood,” he told her.  “Look here.”  He pointed at the drawing again.  “To do it, this sigil has to be drawn, in blood, on the skin of the host.” It was a simple image.  Two circles sat side by side, a line drawn through them both.  “Then they say the spell, and that’s it.”

                “How is it broken?”  Elise couldn’t remember how to break the ritual, which was one of the things she needed to check.  If they let Crowley do this, they’d need to stop him – and they’d need to make sure he didn’t know that they could. 

                Both of them kept reading.  “It says that the sigil has to be destroyed,” Dean pointed at the words. 

                “Easy enough,” Elise said.  “So it can be stopped without too much trouble.”

                Dean flipped back to the first page, and read the beginning again.  “This is weird,” he said, almost to himself. 

                “What?”

                “It doesn’t say that it has to be a demon who uses this,” Dean told her.  “It says host all the way through, but it doesn’t say demon.”

                Elise frowned.  “Let me see.”  She flipped to the front of the book, reading the first page.  “I remember something about that, but it was earlier.”  She skimmed a few pages, turning back and forth between sections.  “Here it is,” she said.  Dean leaned in, and she was distracted by his smell.  Leather and soap, she thought, and something else that she couldn’t put her finger on.  She shook her head, briefly, reminding herself to focus.  “The, uh, introduction says that although demons can do all of these spells, they can also be performed successfully by one who holds the grace of Heaven.”  She looked at Dean.  “Angels.  No wonder the demons hid this book.  If an angel got their hands on this, they could suck the power out of all the demons on Earth, and then use their own demonic gifts to destroy them.”

                Dean shrugged.  “Angels are dicks,” he said, “except for Cas.  They can’t be trusted with this either.”

                “Lucifer could definitely use this,” she pointed out.  “We have to make sure he doesn’t get access to it, ever.”

                At that moment, Elise’s stomach growled.  Dean froze, looking at her.  “Was that your stomach?”

                She flushed, embarrassed.  “Yeah,” she admitted.  “I didn’t realize I was so hungry.”

                Dean smiled.  “We should have eaten earlier.”  He put the book in the box and closed the lid.  “Food?  We can finish this up later.” 

                She nodded.  “Would you go pick something up and bring it back?” she asked him.  “I’d really like to get a quick shower.”

                “No problem.  Burgers?”

                “Sounds perfect,” she said.  “Thanks Dean.”  Elise walked him to the door, giving him the keys.  She shut the door behind him, locked the bolt, and returned to the room.  She needed a few minutes alone with the book, some time to study and read closely, without Dean looking over her shoulder.  There were a few things that she needed to make sure of before they used the spell, and Dean wouldn’t be gone long.  She settled down with the book and began to read.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swore I wouldn't write chapter notes, but I'm breaking my promise to myself.
> 
> This story has gotten away from me somewhat - I started it with the intention of a 5-6 chapter piece, and now I'm publishing chapter 12 with more to come. I hope you're liking it; feel free to leave a comment if you are! If you aren't... well, go find something that's more your speed, I suppose. Happy reading.


	13. Perfect

                When Dean got back with the food, Elise was waiting for him.  She’d finished with the book, closed up the hidden room, and gotten her shower.  She’d thrown on a pair of loose-fitting pajama pants and a tank top after her shower, and her hair hung around her shoulders, still damp. 

                “I stopped and picked up some beer,” Dean told her, handing her a grocery bag.  In his other hand, there was a paper bag, already greasy looking.  He held it up.  “Burgers and fries.”

                Elise popped the beer in the apartment’s fridge, keeping two out for them.  “Let’s go eat on the couch,” she suggested.  “I hooked my laptop to the TV, so we can watch Netflix while we eat.”  Dean followed her to the next room, sitting on one end of the couch.  She handed him a beer, and he began handing out food.  In a few minutes, they were engrossed in Ant-Man, happily eating burgers.

                “These are fantastic,” Elise said.  She dipped a fry in ketchup and ate it.  “Where did you get them?”

                “There was a diner just a few blocks over,” Dean replied.  “It was busy, but it was worth it.”

                Elise took another bite from her burger, letting a happy little moan escape.  Dean’s head whipped toward her, and she felt the spike in his emotions.  “Sorry,” she said, looking over at him. 

                This time it was Dean’s face that was red.  “Uh,” he stammered, trying to stop thinking about the sound she’d made.  “Don’t worry about it.”  Despite her efforts to not listen to his thoughts all the time, she found that she was more attuned to him than to most people, so she kept catching little bits and pieces without meaning to hear them.  Right now, he was desperately trying not to think about the sounds Elise might make during sex. 

                Elise put her burger down.  She turned to him.  “Look, Dean,” she said.  “Whatever this is, we both feel it.”  She took a sip of her beer, trying to gather her own thoughts.  “I don’t know why you can hear my thoughts when we touch, but I know that I’m hearing your thoughts more and more, even when I’m trying to stay out of your head.”  She paused.  “It seems like the more time we spend together, the stronger this connection is.  In the beginning, you’d only hear my thought if it was very clear.  Now, I think I can send you emotions and more abstract things when we touch – did you notice that?”

                “Yeah,” Dean said.  “You did it at the motel, right?”

                Elise nodded.  “I don’t know if it’s just because we’re getting to know each other or because we’re attracted to each other, but it’s changing.”  Dean’s green eyes were serious, watching her carefully.  “So, I’m sorry if I overhear your thoughts too much.”

                “Don’t worry about it,” he said, voice rough.  “You pretty much saw the worst of it already.”  He was thinking about last night, and his whole body tensed with the memory.  Instinctively, she reached out and touched his hand, letting her concern flow through him.  He frowned, looking at her hand.  “You’re doing it now, aren’t you?” he asked.  “I feel, I don’t know, calmer.”

                She pulled her hand back.  “Sorry,” she apologized again. 

                “It’s okay,” he said.  “It’s nice, weirdly.”

                They both went back to their burgers, letting the movie play. 

 

               

 

When the movie was over, Dean turned to her.  “So was that all you needed to do with the book?”

                “We’ll take it with us,” she said, turning off the TV.  “But yeah, I just needed to review the sigil and the exact wording of the spell.” 

                “Why?” 

                Elise was careful with what she said.  “I wasn’t sure if an angel could use it,” she told him.  “I couldn’t remember.  Lucifer will definitely want to find it if he thinks he can use the spell. I hoped there was something in the book about how to prevent the spell from being used by angels, but there isn’t.”  She looked at Dean, and he was watching her closely.  “I looked while you were gone.”

                “Anything else in there we should know?”  Dean asked. 

                “There is a way to prevent a demon from being influenced by the spell,” she said.  “There’s a mark for that.  If we decide we want to keep Crowley out of it, so he can work with us, we can use that on him.”  She frowned.  “I’m not sure if that’s a good idea or not, but we’ll need all the power we can find to fight Lucifer, so we may have to let Crowley in on at least that detail.”

                “Crowley will work with us to trap Lucifer,” Dean told her.  “We know that.  Lucifer hates Crowley and tortures him every chance he gets, so Crowley will do whatever it takes to lock him back up.”

                “Well, if we track Lucifer down, we’ll find out the truth of that,” she said.  “I know we can’t give him the power that this spell provides.  I think Castiel should be the one to do it.”

                “Cas will do it,” Dean agreed, “and he’s a much better choice than Crowley.”

                “So we track Lucifer down,” she said, thinking it through.  “Maybe we can let him think Crowley’s in charge, as a sort of distraction, while we get all of the pieces in place?  And then Cas can use the powers of the world’s demon force to shove Lucifer back into – what did you call it?” she asked Dean.

                “The cage.”  Dean’s voice was grim.

                “Right,” she agreed.  “We’ll figure it out more specifically when we get back with the others.”  She stood, stretching.  “We can drive straight back tomorrow.  I don’t really want to risk a night in a motel with the book,” she said.  “Too easy for Lucifer or Crowley to send his demons after us.”  She walked toward the door.  “You want another beer?”

                Dean said yes, so she grabbed two more and returned to the couch.  When she handed a beer to him, instead of sitting at the far end of the couch, she sat beside Dean.  His face registered surprise, but then she leaned her back against him and snuggled into his body.  After a pause, his arm draped over her shoulders.  Dean was solid and reassuring, and with everything they were facing, she needed that.  His skin was warm against hers, and she sank into that, into his presence, letting his thoughts flow into her.  He was okay with this, and it surprised him; he’d expected to be uncomfortable, since he wasn’t a huge fan of cuddling, but for now, this felt alright.  _It’s alright for me too,_ she thought.

                Dean chuckled, his voice low in her ear.  “Alright, sweetheart,” he said.  “Don’t get too comfy in my head.”

                She laughed too.  “But it’s okay if I get comfy with you, on this couch, right?”

                “Sure.”  Dean’s voice was smooth on the surface, but beneath that, there was something rough.

                “Can I ask you a question?” Elise knew she could, but it was just polite to say things out loud.  She felt his nod, felt his head dip behind her.  “What would you do if the world was suddenly cleared of all supernatural creatures?”  She paused, then went on.  “You’ve hunted your whole life, right?  If that all stopped tomorrow, if all of the danger was gone, what would you do?”

                Dean took a long drink of his beer, thinking.  “I don’t know,” he said, genuinely lost in the possibility.  “I know Sam would go back to school, finish his law degree and all that, and he’d find a nice girl to marry.  He’d get a dog, have some kids, and have the TV commercial perfect life, white picket fence and all.”  Dean paused.  “I’d… I guess I’d get a job somewhere near Sammy, try to be part of it.”

                “What would you do?  Go to school?”

                Dean huffed in her ear.  “Definitely not,” he said.  “Sam’s the nerdy one.  I’d get a job in a garage or something.”

                “Don’t take this the wrong way, Dean,” she said, reaching up to tug on the fingers that draped over her shoulder, “but I’ve been in your head, and you’re awfully nerdy too.” 

                “Hey!” he protested.

                “And you’re pretty smart, even if you tell yourself you aren’t,” she went on, ignoring his complaints.  “You could go to school, if you wanted.  If you didn’t go, it wouldn’t be because you couldn’t go.”

                “So in your fantasy world, Stanford and Harvard and Yale are taking high school dropouts with GEDs?” 

                “Yes,” she said firmly.  “They are.”  She took a drink of her beer.  “I don’t know what I’ll do when all this is over,” she said, telling him what she was really thinking about.  “If I survive this, which isn’t a sure thing, what do I do?”

                Dean moved her then, laying his beer bottle aside, so that he could look at her as he spoke.  “You will survive this,” he told her, stopping her before she could even argue.  “And when it’s over, you can take some time to decide what you want.”  His eyes left hers for a moment, looking at the floor as he spoke.  “You can, uh, stay at the bunker while you figure it out.”

                Elise smiled.  “Stay at the bunker?” she repeated.  “With you guys?”

                Dean rubbed the back of his neck.  “Yeah,” he said.  “With me.”

                Elise laid her beer down on the coffee table, then reached out and cupped Dean’s face in her hands, forcing his chin up so his eyes came back to hers.  “You wouldn’t mind me staying?” she asked, a warm feeling spreading through her chest.  She could feel Dean’s desire, his need, coursing through them both, and she knew where this conversation was going. 

                Dean leaned in, catching her wrists in his hands.  He spoke, the words husky.  “I want you to stay.”  And then he closed the space between them, finding her lips with his.  His lips were soft, silkier than Elise had imagined, and he knew exactly what to do with them.  He placed gentle kisses all along her jaw, stopping when her reached the place right below her ear.  She sighed, sinking into the intimacy, letting him kiss and lick her skin, her head falling back so that he could work his way across her neck, distributing kisses to the other side.  When he came back to her mouth, he caught her lip between his teeth, tugging gently, teasing her.

                Elise’s hands began to roam, sliding over his shoulders, tangling into his hair.  She’d wanted to do this for days now, had imagined herself scratching gently across his scalp, tugging his hair, pulling low moans out of him as she pressed her body against his.  As she thought that, Dean chuckled, laughing against her mouth.  His hands slid down to her backside, and he lifted her quickly, pulling her onto his lap so that she sat astride him, then wrapping his arms around her to hold her body close to his.  _Like this?_   He buried his mouth in the crook of her neck, placing kisses there.  _Is this what you wanted?_

Elise leaned back, waiting for him to make eye contact, her hand on his arm, and grinned.  _Almost_.  She reached down to the hem of her tank top and pulled it off, then unclasped her bra.  Dean was staring, mesmerized.  She reached to grab at his shirt, pushing it off his shoulders, then tugged his t-shirt off over his head.  She leaned into him, pressing their skin together.  _This is what I wanted._   She ran her hands through his hair, down his back, kissing his neck like he’d kissed hers.  _This is what I need._ The feel of his body, his warm, smooth skin against hers, anchored her.  All of her worries and fears washed away, and all that was left was the two of them.

They stayed like that for the longest time, touching and kissing, letting thoughts pass between them.  Elise loved the closeness of the moment; skin on skin, she could hear his thoughts and he could hear hers, but there was no awkwardness.  There was warmth and wanting, soft hands and busy mouths, but none of it felt strange.  When things began to heat up, when Dean’s hands moved to the waistband of her pants, she pulled away.

                “Not here,” she said, catching her breath.  “There’s a bed in the bedroom.”  She stood, holding one of Dean’s hands.  He stood, and in a quick movement, scooped her up.  She giggled, reaching up to wrap her arms around his neck.  He carried her to the room, lowering her to the bed.  The rest of their clothes disappeared.  She could hear his thoughts as they touched, hear his brain in overdrive, thinking _yes yes more_ , and she smiled to herself, knowing with certainty that what she was doing was driving him wild. 

                “Oh, god, Elise.”  Dean’s voice was pure lust and pleasure.  He kissed her, his tongue swiping across her lips.  He was thinking of her, naked and spread out and writhing beneath him, crying out his name as she exploded with pleasure.  His thoughts were so explicitly clear that she moaned into his mouth, her body already singing with the pleasure he imagined giving her.  Elise couldn’t get air into her lungs fast enough.  She gasped and sighed, thinking she’d die from the desire she felt.  Dean laughed, his forehead falling against hers.  “Alright, alright,” he laughed.  “No more teasing.”

                They moved together, wordless, their shared thoughts bringing them to the edge quickly.  Thoughts of _so close_ and _right there_ and _oh please please please_ passed between them, and Elise thought that she’d never had sex like this, never felt such incredible closeness.  With Dean’s body stretched out against hers, full body contact, they were in direct communication with each other.  She could hear Dean, feel his excitement and his sensations, and it was amplified in her own body.  She was overcome with feelings.  Dean was watching her, lost in their shared experience, and he thought _you look so beautiful like this._ That was it for Elise.  She fell over the edge, and Dean tumbled with her, collapsing into her, breathing heavily.

                When he lifted his head from her shoulder, he leaned down to place a kiss on her lips.  “Elise,” he said, still breathing hard.  “That was incredible.”

                “I know,” she said, reaching up to run her fingers through his hair again.  “It’s never been like that for me,” she blushed.  “I mean…” she trailed off, not sure exactly how to explain it. 

                Dean moved to lie beside her, taking her hand.  “Yeah, well, once you started thinking ‘perfect perfect perfect’ over and over, I knew I was on the right track.”  He laughed and lifted her hand to his mouth, placing a kiss on her palm.  “I could hear and feel what you wanted, and all I wanted was to give it to you.”

                “Same here,” she said, rolling onto her side and wrapping an arm around his waist.  She felt sleepy, and knew Dean felt the same, both of them worn out by the intimacy they’d shared and the day’s travel. 

                Dean reached down to tug the sheets and blankets closer around them.  Elise snuggled closer, intoxicated by the feel of being so close to Dean, and let her eyes fall shut.  _Goodnight, Dean._ She heard the sleepy chuckle that answered her, then felt the response.

_Night, sweetheart._


	14. In Plain Sight

                They were up early the next morning.  Elise had slept solidly all night long; she’d spent the night following Dean through his dreams, and fortunately, they’d all been pleasant.  She couldn’t remember exactly what they were, but she woke with the feelings of warmth and contentment that came from good dreams.  She snuggled closer to Dean, tucking her body beneath his arm, soaking up his body heat for a few more minutes.  When he woke, they’d need to get up and get on the road back to the bunker, but for now, she could lie here and pretend that she’d never heard of Lucifer, Crowley, or any of the other terrifying creatures in the world.  Right now, lying naked with Dean, she could imagine her life was normal.

                Dean shook himself into consciousness a few minutes later.  His green eyes were sleepy, but when he saw Elise next to him, he perked up quickly.  “Hey,” he said, his voice rough with sleep. 

                “Hey,” she replied.  “You slept well.”  It wasn’t a question.  She could feel the relaxation that had swept through his body overnight.

                “Yeah,” he agreed.  “Best night’s sleep I’ve had in ages.”  He leaned down to place a kiss on the top of her head.  “Must be because you wore me out last night.”

                She laughed.  “Must be.”  Her arm was across his chest, and she hugged into him for a moment, taking one last chance to enjoy the contact between them.  “I guess we should get going,” she said.  “Long drive.”

                Dean didn’t want to move.  Elise could hear him thinking, wishing they could stay there, at least for another day.  He wanted to spend the day in bed, only getting up to order pizza.  She sighed, wanting the same thing. 

                “Yeah,” he agreed, slowly.  “I guess we should.” 

                A half hour later, they were back in the Impala.  The book was locked in the trunk, safe in its warded box.  They’d fill the car with gas, grab some breakfast on the road, and start the long drive back to Lebanon.  Elise slid onto the passenger seat beside Dean, buckling her seatbelt.  “Ready,” she said, turning to Dean.

                Dean turned the key in the ignition.  The engine roared and he smiled.  He punched a button on the tape deck and AC/DC blared from the speakers.  Elise raised an eyebrow at Dean.  “You Shook Me All Night Long?”

                He winked at her.  “It’s a classic.”  He put the car in gear and pulled out onto the road, belting out the lyrics with a smirk on his face.

 

 

                It was a long day.  They made it back to the bunker late that evening, after a full day of driving and a couple of stops.  Both of them were tired when they stepped out of the car by the bunker.  Elise had been tense the whole drive; she’d been worried that Crowley’s minions – or Lucifer – would show up and make a grab for the book.  The warding on the box would hide the book from them, but Dean and Elise would be easy enough to track down, if they were looking.  Dean kept telling her to relax, that they’d handle it if anything happened, but she stayed alert the whole drive.  She didn’t let her guard down until they pulled up at the bunker.

                Both of them stretched when they got out of the car.  Elise watched Dean’s broad shoulders as he rolled his neck, looking at the way his hands moved.  She tried to shake it off but couldn’t, and found herself remembering the things his hands had done to her just last night.  She blushed and turned away from him, raising her arms above her head to stretch out the kinks in her own body.  She took a few steps as she stretched, and when her legs felt alive again, she stopped and folded her body in half, legs straight, letting her head fall toward her knees and her hands sweep the ground.  The muscles in her legs burned pleasantly with the stretch.  She sighed, enjoying the feeling. 

                _Stop looking at her ass,_ she heard Dean think.  _Get a grip._ A wave of lust rolled from Dean to Elise, and she laughed, wiggling her backside a little before standing up. 

                “Enjoying the view?” she teased.

                Dean’s voice was gruff.  “Listen, sweetheart, if you keep doing that in front of me, I’m going to need a cold shower.”

                She laughed again, remembering how she felt just looking at his hands.  “I’ll try to behave if you will,” she said.  “But I make no promises.”

                In two long strides Dean was right next to her, tugging her in to press their lips together.  His hand snaked around her body and squeezed her backside.  She laughed into his mouth, and she could feel him smiling as they kissed.  She leaned into him, her body pressing against his.  When they broke apart, they were breathing hard.  “We better get inside,” Dean said.  He kissed her again, softer this time.  “Sam is waiting for us to bring in the book.”

                Elise tucker her head beneath Dean’s chin, hugging into him.  “I guess so,” she said.  Neither of them wanted to let go, to give up this moment and get back to the battle against Lucifer.  “We have a ton of stuff to do.”

                They stood there a moment longer, arms around each other, then broke apart and popped the trunk.  Picking up the book and their bags, they headed inside.

 

 

                Sam was waiting for them in the main room.  “How was your trip?” he asked, reaching out to take the warded box from Elise. 

                “Long,” she answered. 

                Dean snorted.  “That was nothing,” he said.  “Sammy and I have spent a lot longer days than that in the Impala.”

                Elise raised an eyebrow at him.  “I feel like my butt’s gone flat from sitting all day,” she said.  “It was a long trip.” 

                Dean smirked at her, and she could hear him as clearly as if he’d spoken.  _Definitely not flat.  I just had a very close look outside._ She narrowed her eyes at him.

                Sam had already opened the box, taking a quick look at the book.  “Everything went okay?”  His eyes were on the book, not on Elise or Dean.  They looked at each other.

                “Fine,” Elise said, quickly.

                “Smooth sailing,” Dean said, at the same time.

                Sam looked up and saw the look they were exchanging.  Both of them immediately looked away. “Are you two fighting or something?”

                Dean rolled his eyes.  “No, Doctor Phil, we’re fine.  Everything’s fine, except for the fact that we have a book here that could basically end the world and Lucifer is gunning for it, because he knows Crowley is hunting for it to shove him back in the box.”

                “Alright, Dean,” Sam replied.  “Just asking.  You two are being a little weird.”

                Elise had no desire to have this conversation, so she changed the topic.  “Did you hear from Castiel?”

                Sam closed the cover of the book.  “He’s supposed to call in soon.”  He put the book back in the box and closed that as well.  “He had a lead on Lucifer.” 

                “That means this might go down sooner rather than later,” Dean said, and Sam nodded.  Elise swallowed hard, feeling a lump building in her throat.  “We better get ready.”  Dean picked up his bag again. “I’m going to grab a shower and change.  If Cas calls before I get back, come get me.”  He started to walk away, then stopped and turned back.  “Elise, you should take a break now too – we could be at this all night once Cas gets in touch.”

                Elise moved to follow Dean, stopping just for a minute to talk to Sam.  “Are you going to start on the book?”

                “I’d like to, if that’s okay,” he told her.  “I know you’ve read it, but I want to be prepared.”

                She sighed.  “I trust you, Sam,” she said, answering the question she could hear in his thoughts.  “You can read it.  I just hate the idea of anyone else being burdened with the book’s knowledge.  It makes you a target, like me, and I hate doing that to you.”

                Sam reached out and touched her arm.  She saw flashes of his life, like she always did with Sam, a sort of highlight reel of awful moments this time.  She saw torture and loneliness and loss, and she knew what he’d say next.  “Don’t worry about that, Elise.  Dean and I are already so deep into this life that we might as well wear shirts with bullseyes painted on them.  We can take care of ourselves.”

                She smiled at him, sadly.  “I know you can, Sam,” she agreed.  “I just worry.”  She stepped in close to him then and put her arm around his waist, hugging into him.  She could feel his surprise, but then he moved into the hug, reaching down to wrap her in his arms.  “You’re a good man, Sam Winchester,” she said, then she released him and walked down the hall.

 

 

                When Elise came back to the room, Sam was engrossed in the book, and Dean was sitting across from him, flipping the pages of another book.   They each had a beer in front of them, and a third one waited on the table for Elise.  She sat down next to Dean, taking a long pull from her beer.

                “So,” she said, waiting for Sam to look up from the book, “what are you thinking, Sam?”

                He had the book open to the section that Elise and Dean had read last night.  She could see his notes, where he’d sketched the symbols that would start the process.  He’d also transcribed the incantation.  Sam flipped the page, back to the illustration of the demon.  He tapped the drawing.

                “This can work,” he said.  “If we use it, we can overpower Lucifer.  Then we can put him back in the cage.”

                “Or kill him,” Dean supplied.  Elise and Sam looked at him.  “Sammy, we should think about it.  We’d have the upper hand for once, and Lucifer has escaped the cage before.  Crowley said this could be used to kill him.”  Dean paused, and Elise followed the flood of images that filled the pause.  She saw Sam when he was possessed by Lucifer, and Castiel in the same situation, and she felt Dean’s hate rise.  _I can’t let that happen again_ , he thought.  Elise reached out and touched him, just for a second, telegraphing her understanding to him.  He looked at her and gave a short nod.

                “He’s the last of the archangels, Dean,” Sam said.  “Should we really kill him?”

                “One less asshole angel to worry about,” Dean said, his voice angry. 

                Sam sighed.  “We might need him one of these days, Dean.  Like we did with Amara.”  The memories of that fight bubbled to the surface of both of their minds, and Elise saw Lucifer, embedded in Castiel, fighting alongside the Winchesters.  Sam turned the pages of the book, letting them all think.  “So are we going to let Crowley do this?”

                Elise and Dean both shook their heads.  “No freakin’ way,” Dean said.

                Elise leaned in to turn the book’s pages.  “Look, Sam,” she said, showing him the front pages.  “An angel can use this spell to take the demon’s powers.  We don’t have to give Crowley access to the book at all.  We can set up Cas to do it instead.” 

                Sam leaned in to read the pages in question, skimming quickly.  “Oh, that’s much better,” he said, relieved.  “If Crowley got his hands on this, he’d disappear as soon as it was over and we’d have to spend the next two years hunting him down.”

                Dean snorted.  “Two years is giving him way too much credit.  One good summoning spell and he’s back in the dungeon, Sammy.”

                “You have a dungeon?” Elise asked, confused. 

                Sam turned to her, smiling.  “This place has everything.  There is a dungeon, hidden behind some storage.”  Elise focused on his thoughts, seeing what he was describing.  “We had Crowley chained up there for a few months, once upon a time.”  She could see Crowley, sitting inside a devil’s trap, chains around his neck, surly and unwashed.  “We needed some information from him.”

                Elise smiled too, enjoying this version of Crowley, getting a kick out of seeing the demon who was responsible for her torture in such an uncomfortable position.  “I kind of wish I’d seen that memory before,” she said.  “But anyway, we’re not giving him the information, no.  Castiel is a much better choice.”

                “We just need to track down Lucifer, and set him up,” Dean said.

                “We need the, uh,” Sam flipped pages, looking for the reference in the book, “focusing bands?  We have to get those first.”

                Elise sighed.  It was time to tell them the rest of the story.  “I have them,” she told Sam.  “I’ve had them all along.”

                Dean turned to look at her then too, surprised.  “What?”

                “I keep them with me,” she said, shrugging.  She could feel Dean’s irritation, and Sam’s uncertainty.  “They’ve been here since you guys picked up my stuff.”

                “That’s a huge risk,” Dean said, angry now.  “You should have told us.”

                She looked at him.  “I know,” she said.  “But the less you knew, the less risk for you.  If I was killed for them, well, fine.  But I didn’t want you - ”

                “Stop saying that!” Dean shoved his chair back and stormed away from her.  “It’s not your job to protect us!  And we can’t protect you if you keep secrets like this!”

                She lowered her head, tears brimming in her eyes.  Dean’s anger was like a blow to the chest; it was so sudden and forceful that she suddenly found it hard to breathe.  “Nothing happened, Dean,” she said, trying to reason with him.  “No one was hurt.”

                “Not this time,” Dean said, shouting.  “We had Crowley here in the bunker and the bands were here!  Don’t you see how reckless that was?”

                “Calm down, Dean,” Sam interjected.  “She’s right, nothing happened.  There’s no point in yelling at her now.”  He turned to Elise, distressed by the tears that were on her face.  “Elise, you really can’t keep a secret like that from us, not now.  Okay?”

                She nodded, trying to rein in her emotions.  Dean stayed across the room, still angry.  “I’ll go get them,” she said.  She left the room quickly.   She went to her room quickly, trying to get herself together.  She wiped at her eyes furiously, mad that she’d let herself get this upset.  She wasn’t a crier; she could count on one hand the number of times she’d cried since she’d been protecting the book.  But something was different now, because of Dean.  He wasn’t angry that she’d taken a risk; he was hurt that she hadn’t trusted him with that information.  She felt that when he’d yelled at her.  She shook her head now, trying to clear his emotions from her head.  She’d have to apologize to him again later.

                She grabbed her makeup bag, carrying it with her back to the main room.  Before she could come back through the doorway, she heard Sam and Dean’s voices.  She froze.

                “What the hell was that, Dean?”  Sam sounded angry now. 

                “She lied to us, Sam.”  Dean was defensive.

                Sam made a dismissive sound.  “No, she didn’t,” he stated.  “She kept a secret, one that’s been hers alone for a long time.  One that got her tortured.  She’s scared of what can happen if she tells people; that’s perfectly reasonable.  And you yelled at her!”  Sam paused, but Dean didn’t say anything else.  “Jesus Christ, Dean, you made her cry.  She didn’t even cry when she was tortured.”

                Elise was still frozen.  Dean sighed.  “I know, Sammy.  I just lost it.  I kept thinking that Crowley could have grabbed her when he was here, taken her and the bands, and I lost it.”

                “You like her.”  Sam’s statement was unexpected.  “That’s what’s going on between you two.  The weird responses when I asked how it went.  The touching, the long looks – you _like_ her.”

                Dean didn’t answer. 

                “And there’s something else, isn’t there?  Something more going on between you two,” Sam said, and Elise was surprised.  She’d known Sam was observant and clever, but she hadn’t expected him to pick up on this so quickly.

                Dean exhaled, long and loud.  “Yeah, Sammy,” he said.  “But we haven’t really figured it out yet, okay?  So don’t go all touchy-feely about it.  Leave it alone.”

                Elise took a breath, feeling Dean’s need to be done with this conversation, and she walked back into the room.  She dropped her makeup bag on the table between the brothers.  “The bands are in here,” she said.  She unzipped the bag, rolling out the divided sections, showing them the separation between her makeup and her jewelry. There, in one of the small zippered pouches, were a few sets of bracelets.  One silver set, with 5 thin bands.  One gold set, with two bands.  One mixed set, with some gold, some silver, of varying widths.  “I thought that in plain sight was the best camouflage.  I figured if, uh, I died or something, and anyone else ever found my stuff, they’d just think these were cheap bracelets and throw them away.”

                Dean reached for the bag, unzipping the part that held the two gold bands.  He tugged them free and examined them.  “They look like regular bracelets.”

                Elise smirked.  “Those are,” she said, deftly pulling two gold bands from the mixed set.  “These are the bands.”  Sam laughed quietly.  “I guess my hiding place was a good one.” 

                Dean rolled his eyes, but when he reached to take the gold bands from her hands, he touched her a little longer than needed, and caught her eye.  _Sorry_.  _Later, okay_?  She nodded.  He turned the bracelets over in his hands, running his fingers over the markings.  “So we have these and the spell.  We can use Crowley as a distraction.  Elise said there’s a sigil in there that makes a demon immune to the effects of the spell, so we can mark him with that and he can help.  Cas can complete the spell and tackle Lucifer.  And we’ll need Rowena if we’re going to put Lucifer in the cage again.” 

                “Rowena?”  Elise asked.

                “Crowley’s mother,” Sam supplied.  Elise let herself look in their thoughts and saw the red-headed woman from the battle between God and his sister.  “She’s a witch.”

                “She can open the cage,” Dean explained.  “Lucifer tried to kill her once, so she wants to get rid of him.”

                “This is annoyingly complicated,” Elise said.  She reached for her beer. 

                Both Sam and Dean laughed at her.  “Welcome to our lives, sweetheart,” Dean said.  She made a face at him, and he reached out to grab her hand.  Just before he touched her skin, his phone beeped.  He shrugged at her, apologetically, and reached for his phone on the table.  He frowned at the screen, tapping a few times, while Elise and Sam waited.  Elise could feel a sharp spike in Dean’s tension level.

                “Dean?” Sam asked.

                He looked up, green eyes blazing.  “It’s Cas.  They’ve found Lucifer, and we’ve got an opening.”  He didn’t say anything else, but Elise could feel that there was more to come.

                “Dean.”  Sam’s voice was heavier this time.  “When is it?”

                “Tomorrow.  We take on the devil tomorrow.”


	15. Approach

                No one got much sleep after that.  The message kick-started an outbreak of activity; they packed up the gear they’d need, organized the materials for the showdown with Lucifer, and within a few hours, they were on the road.  Elise was exhausted – they all were – but they needed to move.  She’d have to sleep in the car. 

                Castiel’s call forced them all into high gear, at least for the moment.  They were meeting him in Eureka Springs and it would take most of the night to get there.  Cas had called in the others; they would be there in the morning as well.  For now, though, they had a long drive ahead – for Dean and Elise, the second one that day.

                Dean started out in the driver’s seat, with Sam riding shotgun, and Elise had the backseat to herself.  They were planning to drive all night, so the brothers were discussing their plans.  With nearly 500 miles to drive, Sam would take a turn driving later this evening, after a rest stop.  For now, Dean sat behind the wheel, talking strategy with Sam.

                “I think we’ve got to go in there early, Sammy,” he said.  “Cas is going to do some more recon, try to find the weak points.  If we can get in ahead of time, we can set up holy fire and trap the bastard.”

                “It won’t hold him, Dean,” Sam argued.  “I say we go with the element of surprise.  Have Cas do the ritual just before we get to Lucifer, then he’ll be in control as soon as we make contact.”

                “Yeah, but we don’t know how much control he’ll have over himself,” Dean argued.  “What if the power’s way too much?  We need Cas to be himself until the last possible moment, just in case.”

                Elise was listening, of course, but she was also catching flashes of their thoughts, particularly Dean’s.  He was remembering a barely recognizable Cas, skin peeling and blood seeping through, barely holding his vessel together and calling himself God.  Dean ached to remember Castiel that way, delusional with power and purpose, on the verge of madness and death.  He was afraid that if this spell held too much power, which it certainly did, Cas could careen down that road again – and this time, they’d be unable to bring him back.  As he argued for his last-minute spell approach, his fear became heavier. 

                “Besides, we need Lucifer to think Crowley is the one who holds all the cards.  If Cas has already done the ritual, Lucifer will know.” 

                Sam sighed. Elise turned her attention to Sam’s thoughts, and she saw that Sam, too, had caught up with Dean’s train of thought and was remembering Castiel’s stint as an all-powerful being.  “We’ll have to see what Cas comes up with, Dean,” he said, softly.  Elise could recognize Sam’s words as a gesture meant to soothe Dean’s worries.  “It all depends on what he finds out.”

                Elise joined the conversation then.  “Did Cas tell you about Lucifer’s vessel?”  She’d learned a lot about angels in a very short time, and the key fact for Lucifer was that his vessel had to be someone special.  As an archangel, he’d need a strong vessel, one that could contain his grace.  Sam had been his vessel once; Elise shuddered just thinking about it. 

                Sam shook his head.  “No,” he said.  “Cas didn’t know.  He followed the signs and he knows Lucifer is there.”  Sam paused.  “Every time we deal with Lucifer he tries to convince me to let him back in.”  It was Sam’s turn to shudder.

                Elise leaned forward and squeezed Sam’s shoulder for a moment.  She didn’t say anything, but she felt him relax at her touch.  Dean half-turned his head, glancing at them.  A ghost of a smile crossed his face.  She reached over to touch him for a second, letting his thoughts wash in.  _Sammy’s comfortable with you,_ he was thinking. 

                She let her hand linger a second.  _I’m comfortable with him,_ she thought.  Dean smiled a little more, then turned his full attention back to the road.

                “Let’s wait until we hear from Cas,” he said.  Sam glanced across at Dean, a little surprised to hear him change his mind.  “We’ll make plans then.”

                Elise settled back in the seat, leaning against the window.  She was tired, and she thought she’d try to grab a nap while they drove.  She closed her eyes.  Classic rock played through the speakers, quietly, and the brothers talked in the front, laughing about things that happened last year, ten years ago, when they were kids.  Elise drifted off into sleep, content to listen to their stories.

               

 

                When Elise woke up a few hours later, they had pulled into a rest stop, and Dean was reaching over the seat to shake her awake.  “Hey,” he said, voice gentle.  “Wake up, Elise.”

                His face was above her, and she looked around in confusion.  Somehow, she’d stretched out across the backseat.  She was lying down flat, her head pillowed on something – Sam’s coat.  “How…” she started to ask, but since she was still half asleep, she didn’t manage to form the question.

                Dean chuckled.  “Sam’s a friggin’ giant.  You were moving around in your sleep, trying to get comfy.  When you lay down, Sam reached back and gave you a pillow.  Kid’s got freakishly long arms.”

                Elise ran her hand over his coat, hoping she hadn’t drooled in her sleep or anything.  She was relieved when she didn’t find any puddles on Sam’s jacket.  “Where is Sam?”

                Dean tipped his head toward the 24-hour gas station.  “Inside,” he said.  “One of us stays with the car all the time when we travel like this, with something like that book in the trunk.  When he gets back, you and I will get a break.”

                Elise sat up, stretching.  “How long was I out?” 

                Dean’s smile was indulgent.  “About three hours.  Sammy conked out right after he gave you his jacket, so he got about the same.  He’ll drive the next shift.”

                “I can drive,” Elise offered.  “I had the longest nap.”

                “It’s alright, sweetheart,” Dean said.  “We’re used to this.  We don’t get much sleep when we’re on the road.”  He chuckled.  “Besides, Baby’s got bench seats.  If you drive, me and Sammy will both have to sit in the back.  You’ll have to pull the front seat up all the way to reach the pedals, and neither of us will fit up here then.”

                Elise giggled, picturing Dean with his knees up around his ears while she drove.  “Fair enough,” she said. 

                They sat there a moment longer, waiting for Sam to return.  Elise reached up and touched Dean again, putting her hand on the back of his neck.  A wave of contentment passed between them.  Right now, in this moment, everything was fine; they were just two people on a road trip, the excitement of a new relationship between them.  No one was trying to kill them, no demons lurked nearby – they were relaxed and happy.  It wouldn’t last and they both knew it, but for now, they could enjoy it.

                _I hope I don’t die tomorrow,_ Elise thought before she could stop herself. 

                Dean stiffened immediately.  “No one’s dying,” he said.  Tension built up immediately and Elise pulled her hand away from Dean’s skin, trying to escape the press of his anger.

                “I know,” she said quickly.  “I know.  I just keep having these moments where I freak out a little.  It’s the devil, after all.  We’re planning a showdown with the devil tomorrow.”

                Dean’s jaw clenched.  “You’ll be fine,” he said.  “Sam and I will make sure you’re safe.”

                Thankfully, Sam chose that moment to come back to the car and open the door.  “Alright, you guys,” he said.  “Your turn.”  Dean pushed open the car door and stalked off quickly.  Sam watched him go, confused.  “What’s with him?” he asked Elise.

                “I said the wrong thing,” she told Sam, leaving out the fact that she’d only thought it.  “I said I hope I don’t die tomorrow.”  Sam’s eyebrows shot up.  “I know, Sam,” she sighed.  “I just forgot myself for a minute.  This whole thing’s got my head screwed up.”

                Sam nodded.  “Just give him a minute.  Go to the bathroom, buy some snacks, whatever you need.  He’ll cool off.  Dean’s protective, so what you said made him worry too, and he deals with it by getting angry.”

                Elise opened the back door and stepped out.  She decided she’d follow Sam’s advice and give Dean a little space.  She took a quick break in the bathroom, washing her hands and face, then stopped into the store to get a bottle of water and some snacks.  She made sure to buy extra, in case either of the guys wanted anything.  When she made her way back to the car, Dean was leaning against the door.

                “You ready?” he asked, voice rough. 

                Elise nodded.  “If it’s okay, I think I’ll sleep some more,” she said.  “You’re sure you don’t want me to take a turn driving?”

                Dean shook his head.  “It’s okay,” he said, and he reached out to touch her this time.  He touched her face, gently.  _We’re okay_.  She smiled and stepped closer to him, tucking herself against him and wrapping her arms around his waist.  He hugged her tightly, resting his chin on her head for a minute.  “Everything will be okay,” he told her, and she could feel how much he needed her to believe it. 

                She tilted her head back, making eye contact with him.  She smiled, agreeing with him.  “Let’s get going, then,” she said.  They separated, Elise sliding into the backseat again, Dean taking the passenger seat. 

                “Ready?” Sam asked, eyeing them both.

                Dean turned to look at Elise, who nodded.  “Ready,” he said.  “Let’s haul ass for Eureka Springs.”

 

 

                When they pulled into town, Cas met them at the motel.  He was leaning against a monstrosity of a car.  Elise laughed when she saw it.  “Is that what Cas drives?” she asked, gesturing toward the gold colored Lincoln Continental.

                Sam and Dean started to laugh.  “Yeah,” Sam answered.  “Cas likes it.  He gets grumpy if you make fun of it.”

                “And you know this because…”

                “Sam called it crappy and Cas was pissed,” Dean told her.  Elise laughed.  “It’s ridiculous.  He should steal something else, but he hasn’t yet.”

                “So don’t make fun of the, uh, 1970s pimp car,” she said.  Dean and Sam laughed again, agreeing with her. 

                They climbed from the car, shaking out tired muscles and stiff backs.  “Dean.  Sam.  Elise.”  Cas greeted them in his gravelly voice.  “Crowley and Rowena are meeting us in an hour.  We should talk before they get here.”

                “Well hello to you too, Cas,” Dean said, voice heavy with sarcasm.  “Yes, the drive was good.  No, we’re not tired and hungry.  We definitely don’t need a break before we get started.”

                Sam rolled his eyes.  “Dean,” he warned.  Watching this, Elise had the feeling that they’d had this kind of conversation a hundred times before. 

                The angel’s face was impassive, but there was irritation in his voice.  “Time is short, Dean, and we have to face Lucifer in a few hours.  We need to be prepared.”

                Dean sighed.  “I know, Cas.  Just let us get our stuff out of the car and we’ll get started.”  He went to the trunk and began unloading, followed by the others.  Within a few minutes, they had their gear moved into the motel room.  The room was beyond seedy; the only good thing about it was its isolation.  It was at the end of the motel, and there were no other cars parked near the Impala and Castiel’s beast of a car, so they would have the privacy they’d need. 

                “Before Crowley arrives, we need to decide how we’re going to approach this,” Cas said.

                “There’s no decision, Cas.  He’s not getting access to the spell,” Dean said, adamant.

                A look of concern crossed the angel’s face, so Elise interjected.  “We re-read the book.  The spell was meant for demons, but the book says an angel can complete it as well,” she explained.  “You should do it, Cas.”

                “We can use Crowley as a distraction,” Sam explained.  “We’ll let Lucifer think Crowley is going to work the spell, but in reality, you will be the one.  Once you’ve got him under control, Rowena can shove him back in the cage.”

                Castiel’s eyes cut to Dean’s, and Elise knew, without listening, what Dean was thinking.  Cas had to be thinking the same thing.  _We can kill him_ , Dean thought.  _It can be over, really over._

                “The cage?” Castiel asked.  “If we have power over him, we should kill him.  Even in the cage, Lucifer has proven to be a problem.  And his obsession with you, Sam, makes him especially dangerous for us.  We should eliminate him, once and for all.”

                Sam shook his head.  “We can’t, Cas.  He’s the last of his kind.  What if we need him?  What if something truly evil comes along again, like the Darkness?”

                Dean snorted.  “Yeah, he was so helpful there.  Really made a difference.”

                Cas seemed to consider, then spoke again.  “I understand your concerns, Sam.  I had thought we were going to kill Lucifer, but in truth, too many angels have died already.  If we can safely lock him back in the cage, we should do that.”  Elise felt a flash of anger from Dean, and he started to speak, but Cas cut him off.  “I know, Dean.  It’s a risk.  In many ways, I would like to kill Lucifer myself.  But he’s my brother, and unless he leaves us no other choice, we should not kill him.”

                Dean threw his hands up in defeat.  “Fine.  But when he breaks out in six months and comes after us, expect to hear ‘I told you so’ before he roasts us alive.”

                Elise cleared her throat, drawing their attention.  “So, Cas, are you okay with being the one to work the spell?”

                He nodded, gravely.  “I will do it,” he said. 

                “Great,” she replied.  “Let’s go over the process before the others get here.  I don’t want to take the book out when Crowley’s around.”  She reached for the warded box, beckoning to Cas to come with her.  “I’ll show you the pages you’ll need to study, so you’ll have the sigil and the incantation memorized.”

                She slipped open the box and pulled out the book.  Behind her, Dean and Sam began to lay out supplies, talking quietly as they worked.  She reached out to touch Castiel’s hand.  “Alright, Cas,” she said.  “Let me show you how to steal the powers of all the demons on Earth.”

 

 

                Crowley arrived shortly after Elise and Cas finished working with the book.  The redhead that Elise had seen in Dean and Sam’s memories was with him.  Once they arrived, things began to get very complicated.

                Crowley, of course, demanded to be the one who worked the spell.  Everyone else in the room laughed in his face when he said he was the best choice for the spell – even his mother.  “Oh, my foolish boy,” she crowed.  “Do you really think that anyone, even these simple fools, would give you that much power?”  Dean and Sam glared at her, annoyed at being called simple.  “Besides, they are right,” she continued.  “Lucifer might not know the spell can be used by angels, but if he’s been tracking your demons, he knows you’re looking for a spell that a demon can work.  Having the angel use the spell does give us the element of surprise.”

                While Rowena was giving her little speech, Dean had moved to stand by Elise.  He touched her arm.  _You said you can hear witches’ thoughts, right? Listen to her as much as possible.  She’s tried to screw us over too many times before._   Elise focused then, combing through as much of Rowena’s head as she could.  For now, it seemed that the witch was being straightforward.  She was, however, planning to get her hands on the book if she could.

                _She is going to help us,_ Elise thought at Dean, _but she wants to steal the book when it’s all done._  Dean’s eyeroll wasn’t surprising, given his dislike of Rowena.  “So if Crowley is a distraction, and Cas works the spell, can you shove Lucifer back in the cage for good?”  Elise directed her question to Rowena, trying to keep the proceedings on task. 

                “Oh, certainly,” she replied. 

                Dean jumped in.  “Then we have a plan.  All we need is the where and the when,” he said, turning to Cas.

                “There is a cave just outside of town,” Castiel told them.  “It seems that Lucifer is planning to use it as a site for his operations.”

                “Why?” Sam asked. 

                “The cave has been used by Lucifer’s followers as a meeting point for many years,” he explained.  “Working there would strengthen his powers.”

                “In the same way that a tulpa is created?” Sam asked, still trying to sort things out.

                “Similar,” Cas said.  “But it’s more that he gains power from the prayers said to him.”

                “Great,” Dean huffed.

                Crowley stepped in.  “What about his vessel?”

                Cas made a face.  “Lucifer has tried many vessels without success, but he has managed to find one here that will hold him for now.  He has convinced a local man to allow his access to his body.”

                “Anything special about the guy, Cas?”  Sam asked.

                “He is one of Lucifer’s followers, which, no doubt, is why he allowed Lucifer to take possession of his body.  But aside from that, he does not seem to be unusual.  He is a mailman.”

                There was silence for a moment, and then Dean snickered.  “Brings new meaning to going postal,” he said.  There was a groan from the entire group.  “What?” 

                “Who else will be with Lucifer?” It was Crowley this time, trying to figure out the plan.

                “It seems he has not made alliances here, so he should be alone,” Cas said.  “He is planning to summon many of the evils of the world to himself, so that he can wreak havoc.  He is rounding up supplies to start his campaign.”

                “So we’ll stake the place out, be waiting for him to arrive,” Dean reasoned.  “When he gets there we’ll have to work fast.”

                “If we can have everything in place, we can grab him as soon as he shows up,” Sam said.  “Cas will just have to hold him while Rowena gets him into the cage.”

                “Lovely,” Crowley said.  “No need for me to be there at all, really.”

                Elise wanted to roll her eyes at that, but kept her face immobile.  “You’re the distraction,” she said.  “In other words, you’re the bait that’s bringing him into this trap.”  He turned on her, eyes narrowed.  Before he could speak, she pushed ahead.  “I think you need to be the first thing he sees when he arrives.  Taunt him, tell him you’re there to take him down, try to strike a deal with him, do whatever you can to keep him occupied while Castiel works his spell.  We don’t know for sure how it’ll work; we’ll need you to help.”

                Crowley couldn’t argue with her logic.  “Bloody bossy little thing, aren’t you?”  He turned to Dean, one eyebrow raised.  “Surely you don’t let her boss you around like that, do you, Squirrel?”

                “Listen, Crowley, you son of a bitch…”

                “Alright, alright,” Sam said, stepping between them.  “Can it, you guys.  You can hate each other after.  Right now, we need to get out to that cave and bait the trap.  Get your stuff together.  The sooner we do this, the sooner we’ll be able to put Lucifer’s sorry ass back in the cage for good.”

                Sam’s words had the desired effect.  Elise could feel the mood of the room shift, from irritation and distrust, to purposeful focus and common need.  Rowena murmured with Crowley about spell ingredients, Sam spoke to Cas about holy oil as a way to slow Lucifer down, and Dean watched them all for a moment before turning to Elise.  “You don’t need to come,” he said, avoiding her eyes.  “You could stay here.”

                Elise wanted to be annoyed that he was trying to keep her out of it, but she could feel his anxiety and she understood his desire to keep her safe.  “I could,” she said.  “But I know the book better than anyone else, and I should be there.  I’ll stay back as much as I can,” she promised, waiting for his eyes to find hers.  “I have no desire to deal with the devil.”

                Dean’s green eyes were all concern.  “Guns and knives can’t protect you from Lucifer.”

                “I know.”

                “Don’t listen to anything he says, okay?”

                “I won’t,” she said.  “I just have to be there,” she explained.  “I need to know that it’s over.”

                He reached out and touched her hand.  _Don’t hand the bands over until the last minute.  Don’t let Crowley know the process._   She nodded.  He let his hand drop, then turned to the room.

                “Alright, everyone out.  Let’s get moving.”  He moved to their supplies, checking weapons and supplies.  “It’s time.”


	16. Onslaught

                The cave was goddamn cold.  That was all Elise could think when they walked in.  She already wished she’d worn another layer of clothing, and she knew she’d be cold for hours after they left this cave.  _If_ they left this cave.  She shook her head, trying to push her fears to the back of her mind.  This was dangerous, but if she was going to get through it all, she needed to keep things positive.

                She was carrying her share of the supplies, and tucked in her jeans pocket was the pair of focusing bands.  Cas knew where they were, in case something happened, as did Dean and Sam.  Her job was to be Castiel’s backup, making sure he completed the ritual without interruption.  According to their plan, if something prevented Cas from working the spell, she was to get to Crowley with the bands and teach him the incantation as quickly as possible.  Elise was distinctly uncomfortable with that idea.  Dean had given her an angel blade, which wouldn’t be enough to kill Lucifer, but it could slow him down.  If it came to a standoff between Elise and the devil, though, she was pretty sure the angel blade wasn’t going to save her.

                Near the cave’s entrance, Dean and Sam were pouring a circle of holy oil.  Rowena was setting herself up further back, behind where Elise stood with Castiel.  They were ready – or as close as they could be – to face Lucifer. 

                Crowley was outside, waiting for Lucifer to arrive.  Elise had taken great pleasure in carving the sigil into his chest to protect him from the spell.  She’d cut more deeply than was strictly necessary, and she’d found herself grinning at him while she did.  He’d yelped and gritted his teeth against the pain, calling her a sadistic bitch.  Dean stood behind him the whole while, laughing at his discomfort. 

                “Consider it payback,” she told Crowley, slicing the last few pieces of the mark.  “Your demon cut me, so now I’m cutting you.”  He didn’t have much to say about that, but he wasted no time getting away from Elise when she was done.  Now, outside, he was safe from the spell, but definitely not safe from Lucifer.

                Dean had capped the holy oil.  “Elise,” he called out.  “Are you and Cas ready?”

                She nodded.  Cas had already made the marks for the sigil on his arm, leaving out just the line that connected the two circles.  When Lucifer entered the cave, he would draw the last line and begin the incantation, which was blessedly short. 

                “Good,” he said.  “Sam and I are going to step behind those two rocks,” he pointed across the cave’s open space, “so that Lucifer can’t see us.  Once he’s in the circle, we’ll light the fire.  You give Cas the bands then.”

                “Got it.”  Elise’s mouth was dry.  She leaned close to Dean for a moment, absorbing his leather-and-soap smell, letting his presence calm her.  “Anything else?”

                “Yeah,” he said, reaching down to lift her chin.  “Be careful.”  He kissed her, gently.  She smiled at the press of his lips, and in that moment, she could believe that it would all be okay.

                And that’s when things began to go horribly wrong.  A cold gust of air exploded through the cave, and behind it came a man, striding purposefully.  He was nothing extraordinary, except that he moved with such force that his power was evident.  In one hand, he dragged Crowley, his suit rumpled and dusty.  Crowley scrabbled for purchase on the ground, but somehow, the hand that held him kept him from gaining his footing, just scraping his knees and feet along the cave’s rocky floor.  The other hand lifted as soon as he saw the group, and they were all flung backwards, away from each other.  Elise slammed into the rock wall, stars swimming in her head.  She moaned softly.

                “Well, fancy meeting you all here,” the man said, his voice chipper and playful.  “Are we having a party?  Is that what this is?”  Elise turned to see the man fling Crowley across the cave.  He cracked against the wall, and the sound rang loudly.  He slumped there, unmoving.  “Castiel!  Dean!  Nice to see you again, boys.  And Sam, my lovely Sam,” he said, eyes fixed lovingly on the younger Winchester, who was pushing himself into a standing position.  “You look wonderful.  Have you been working out?”  He turned to Rowena, who was pulling herself behind a rock.  “Ah, Rowena,” he tutted.  “You can’t hide, Red.  You know I can always find you.” He spoke to Elise.  “And you must be the girl with the book.”  His mouth quirked sideways in a parody of a sympathetic smile, and Elise grimaced.  “You really should have given the book to Crowley’s demon, you know.  Then I could have just killed him and put an end to all this, before you had to get in this deep.”  Lucifer advanced toward her, still with that odd smile on his face.

                “Leave her alone, Lucifer.”  Castiel’s gravelly voice rang out across the cave.  “Your quarrel is not with her.”

                Lucifer turned, the postal service uniform dusty in the cave’s dim light.  “Ah, brother,” he said, and his voice was fond, “my quarrel is with the whole world – haven’t you heard?”  Before Cas could respond, Lucifer reached out.  He curled his fingers toward himself, and Cas jolted forward, pulled as if by invisible strings.  Lucifer’s power was stronger here.  “And if that means I have to kill you first, brother, then I will do it.”  Cas slid toward Lucifer, his arms and legs flailing, unable to stop his body from being pulled ahead by Lucifer’s power. 

                Dean rushed forward then, his angel blade flashing.  Without releasing his hold on Castiel, Lucifer raised his other hand and held a flattened palm toward Dean.  Dean froze in his place, arm stopped in mid-swing.  “Ah ah ah, Dean,” Lucifer chided him, gently, in the same way that one would scold a toddler.  “Wait your turn.” He turned his wrist, closing his fingers, and Dean spun in a matching motion.  With a flick of his fingertips, Dean sailed across the room to where Sam stood.  The pair of them were flattened against the cave’s wall, unable to move.  “Now boys, you know I’ll get to you in time.  Just let me finish up with Cas here first.”

                Lucifer stood there, arms out, one holding Sam and Dean in place, the other dragging Castiel toward him.  Elise glanced toward the others.  Rowena was trying to put together spell ingredients, as covertly as possible, behind the rock where she’d hidden her things.  Elise could hear Rowena thinking that she needed to stay out of Lucifer’s line of fire long enough to arm herself with some magic that would, at the very least, slow him down so she could escape.  Crowley was still down, unmoving.  Dean was shouting at Lucifer, at Cas, trying to reason with the devil and plead for his friend’s life.  Sam was taking stock of the situation, struggling against his invisible bonds, deathly afraid for Cas.  And Lucifer – he was smiling as Cas neared his hand, promising to make it quick, swearing that he would not make his brother suffer any more than necessary. 

                But Elise was still standing.  Lucifer hadn’t touched her, probably thinking her to be inconsequential.  She’d counted on that, in fact, when she had spent time alone, studying the book in the panic room, back in Shreveport, paying careful attention to the pages at front.  She had counted on it when, earlier this evening, she’d drawn the basis of the sigil on her own skin, in her own blood, just in case something went wrong with Castiel, and she’d counted on it when she’d slipped the knife into the top of her boot, ready for easy access.  She’d counted on being unimportant to the devil, because she might need to be unnoticed, as she was now, when she slipped the two focusing bands on her wrists, cut a slash into her palm, and drew the connecting line that finished the sigil.

                Because the book had said, very clearly, that one who holds the grace of Heaven could perform the ritual.  And Elise held the grace of Heaven. 

                Quietly, almost beneath her breath, she recited the incantation.  The Latin flowed easily, as if she’d said it a thousand times before.  As she spoke, the bands on her wrists began to feel warm, and then began to burn, smoke curling in pale wisps around the bands, darkening and thickening as she recited the words.  Elise felt the moment when Lucifer realized what she was doing, felt the stretching moment in time when he turned, releasing Sam and Dean and Castiel, flinging his powers toward her with all of the force he could summon.  She felt it, heard the rage that screamed from him mouth as he lurched toward her, but Lucifer was too late – she had finished the incantation. 

                There was a split second between her last syllable and Lucifer’s attack, and in that moment, Elise turned her head to see Dean, his mouth open and shouting her name.  She smiled at him.  “Dean,” she said, her voice warm and soft.

                Then she lifted her hands to block Lucifer’s onslaught, and she was swallowed by the wave of power that surged through her body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I just posted a chapter two days ago, but this one basically wrote itself and I couldn't wait to post. Hope you like it.


	17. Howl

                In the split second after she finished the incantation, Elise was frozen.  Gabriel’s grace burst to life, binding with the powers of the demons instantly.  Black smoke rushed toward Elise, pouring into the cave’s recesses, snaking through the air.  It swirled in inky patterns around her ankles and legs, sending rippling tendrils outward as her power grew.  She knew, without question, that she could defeat Lucifer.  He surged forward, howling at her, his grace arcing and snapping like electricity - she could see it now, see it working inside his vessel, see the way he channeled it and forced it toward her – and it was pointless.  Elise raised her hands, feeling the demonic energies inside her leap at the chance to fight and kill, and she let loose upon the devil.

                “No!” she shouted, her voice augmented by the spell.  She concentrated on stopping Lucifer, on halting him, and she felt the power fly from her hands.  Lucifer did not merely stop; instead he was blown backwards instantly, crashing against the cave’s wall.  Rocks splintered and cracked behind him, and he staggered from the blow.  She let the demon forces whip and writhe around Lucifer, cutting and slashing at him.  Marks formed all over his skin, blood seeping as he was sliced apart. 

                “You think you can stop me?” he roared, pushing forward to attack again.  He used his grace to shove away the smoke that wrapped around him.  “You think your spell can defeat ME?”  Lucifer’s eyes gleamed red, his grace shining as he focused his powers.  His hands rose, and he tried to return her attack.  Waves of energy flew from him, shoving at her, trying to snap the control she had.  “You think you, a weak, pathetic HUMAN, can win against an archangel?”

                Elise felt the press of his attack.  She staggered back, bowed by its weight and force, as Lucifer shoved forward.  His grace hammered at her, punching at her body, trying to force her to lose control of her power.  She narrowed her eyes and concentrated, forming a barrier to stop Lucifer from reaching her, to push him away from where she stood.  She raised one hand again, making a grabbing motion.  Lucifer’s body jerked.  She squeezed her fingers, just slightly, and he hissed, a sound that echoed through the rock formations.  His body jolted as she exerted pressure on him.  She had him, and even when he pushed against her, he could not shake free.  She pressed back against his force, and turned to find Rowena, to tell her to open the cage. 

                She felt a shift then, when she looked away, in the weight of Lucifer’s powers beneath her fingertips.  He couldn’t fight her – it had become impossible – but his power stopped pushing against her.  He relaxed completely, and her power overbalanced.  He let her force drive him across the cave, flying backwards, directly into Sam.  In a flash, in the fraction of a second when Elise had lost control of the powers she held, Lucifer had pulled Sam to himself, lifting his body through the air, trapping him against his body.  Sam’s face froze; his horror at being in Lucifer’s clutches was apparent.  Elise wanted to howl, to shatter and destroy Lucifer.  Her rage swelled, and the demon smoke around her feet lifted, obscuring her lower half from those in the room.   She heard Dean’s cry of “Sammy!” and Elise’s blood boiled.

                “Leave him alone,” she demanded, reaching with her demon powers to let Lucifer feel the weight of them.  She had to be more careful now, she thought through the haze of the spell, not to crush Sam by accident, not to let him be hurt by accident.  Elise was aware, momentarily, that the spell was clouding her perspective, and when she realized that, she tried to listen to Sam’s thoughts.  She could sense his fear, his stress, but she could no longer hear his individual thoughts.  Her mind was too busy, too clouded, to identify them.  She gritted her teeth and resolved to finish the job.

                Lucifer chuckled.  “Oh no, I don’t think so,” he said, drily.  “If I let go of Sammy here, I lose all my leverage.  You won’t hurt him, will you?  You won’t shove me back in the cage as long as I’m still holding him,” he said, voice amused beneath it all.  “You won’t subject Sammy to being locked up with little old me again.”

                Dean was seething.  He’d moved to grab his angel blade and was advancing toward Lucifer, slowly, carefully, when the devil’s eyes were trained on Elise.  Elise could see him, though, and she wanted to warn him, to tell him to stop.  She could still hear his thoughts, his rage seeping into her, meshing with her own.  “Put him down, Lucifer,” she demanded.  The timbre of her voice had changed, echoing with the heft of the demon powers.  She could see Dean wince when she spoke, see how Sam flinched.  The smoke rolled and moved with her words, her thoughts.  She stepped toward Lucifer, keeping her hold on him, trying to finesse its reach.  She concentrated on moving it up his body, between his chest and Sam’s back.  Dean was still advancing toward Lucifer.  She breathed deeply, letting the power fill every crevice of her body, letting it learn her thoughts and feelings and wants.  She knew what it wanted, too - death, destruction.

“Let me go,” Sam said, voice strained and angry.  “I’ll never say yes.”

                Lucifer laughed.  “That’s what you said before, Sam,” he reminded him.  “But you did say yes, and someday, you’ll say yes again.”  He leaned close to Sam, still watching Elise, smirking, before going on.  “And then you and I will watch the world burn.”

                “Not going to happen,” Dean said, lunging in to drive his angel blade into Lucifer’s shoulder.  Elise had pinned his feet and legs and torso, ensuring he couldn’t move to hurt Dean. The demon howled, and he released his hold on Sam as the blade drove deeply into his vessel.  It wouldn’t kill him, but it did hurt enough to break Sam free.  Elise tightened her grip on Lucifer, extending her grasp to include his entire vessel, holding him immobile, pinning him in place.  Dean reached up to pull the blade free.  “Don’t want this heading off to the cage with you,” he said, and he winked at Lucifer before moving to Sam’s side.

                Behind them, Rowena had begun to chant, starting the spell that would lock Lucifer in the cage.  Elise could feel the magic.  It was heavy and infused the air with an ozone-like smell.  Lucifer must have caught the scent of it as well, because he began to struggle violently against Elise’s hold.  She simply concentrated harder on him, on keeping him contained, and held him fast. 

                Suddenly, his eyes glowed red, and he threw his head back.  Light began to pour from his body.  “He’s ditching his vessel!” Sam shouted, and Elise realized what he meant.  The light grew brighter, and Lucifer was laughing, laughing at them, laughing as he let his grace exit the body he’d chosen.  This time it was Elise who howled, who let wrath control her.  She let the powers take over for her, let them sweep her across the room to stand before Lucifer, let them control her movements.  The powers knew what she needed; Lucifer must stay here, or else he must die.  Elise’s hands reached forward, reaching into the bright light that was surrounding them both now, that was trying to seep through the smoke.  She felt the bands on her wrists still burning, the sigil flaring as her power reached for more.  “You are not going anywhere,” she said, voice heavy with temper, “except where we put you.” 

                Elise reached deeper into Lucifer’s light, feeling the burn of the archangel’s grace against her skin, and grasped the core of it, tightly, with her fingers.  She closed her eyes and began to pull.  Her demonic powers wrapped around his grace, containing it.  Elise held it tightly, the powers of thousands of demons surging through her fingertips, layering themselves around Lucifer’s grace, building a blockade.  She controlled them fully now, and she had Lucifer where she wanted him.  He shouted at her, threatening and insulting, but she barely heard it.  She gripped his grace tightly and slammed him back into his vessel before he could complete his escape.  The heavy black smoke swirled around them both. 

                Elise felt the pull of magic as Rowena’s spell neared completion.  Lucifer struggled wildly, but Elise held fast, her eyes closed, using the force she controlled to keep him immobile.  “You’ll regret this,” he hissed at her.  “You’re just another one of my father’s broken toys, another empty shell who thinks that God is coming to save you.”  He snarled at her as the magic began to grip him.  “You think you love them?  You think he loves you?” Lucifer spat the words at her, tipping his chin in Dean’s direction.  “He can’t love you – he can’t love anything.  It’s all meaningless.”  Lucifer made one last desperate lunge, trying to throw his anger at Dean, to strike out and destroy him in an effort to hurt Elise.  His grace flared, hot under his skin.

                Elise felt a surge of fury.  She opened her eyes, and Lucifer jolted back, shocked.  The demonic smoke shot up around them instantly, and she was reaching, reaching with all of her powers, for the central point in his grace.  She was shouting then, her voice echoing through the cave with the force of the spell, rocks cracking and shattering and splintering and falling all around them, and she was grabbing violently at his grace.  She was driven by rage, striking out at him.

                Somewhere, just at the edge of her consciousness, Sam was shouting at Dean to get away, to take cover.  Castiel was darting toward Rowena, who was at the very end of the spell, with only a few words left to say.  Elise was bent on destruction, and the inky smoke puffed up around her, wrapping her in the warmth of its full strength. 

                Lucifer was in her grasp.  She was going to crush him.  And she was going to enjoy it.

                A hand shot through the smoke, grasping her arm.  Elise glanced down at it.  Dean was holding her wrist.  “No, Elise,” he said, shaking his head.  “You have to stop.”  His eyes were wide, pleading.  He squeezed her arm, trying to get her to focus. 

                She turned away from him, looking back at Lucifer.  The smoke wafted higher, and Lucifer screamed as Elise used the force of the world’s demons to hurt the devil. 

                Rowena stopped chanting. 

                “Now, Dean!” Castiel yelled. 

                Dean slashed through the sigil on Elise’s arm.

                Instantly, the spell was broken.  She saw it all in a rush as Dean’s thoughts and feelings pushed through their bond, saw herself in a cloud of smoke, terrifying and inimitable, saw her eyes turn to demonic black when Lucifer taunted her about Dean.  She saw Dean’s distress, his worry that she had become one of the demons she controlled, the fear that she would destroy the cave and kill them all.  She saw it all immediately.  She turned to Lucifer as her spell released him, and Rowena’s spell wrapped him tightly.

                 “Go to Hell,” she said, almost pleasantly, as she felt him pull away from her, through space and time and dimensions, to hurtle toward the cage.  “And don’t come back.” 

                And then she dropped to the ground, unconscious. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter I've been wanting to write since I started this story! Let me know what you think.


	18. Something Good

                Elise was floating.  The world was darkness to her, and it was peaceful.  She was content here.  Somewhere, just beyond her reach, there was light and noise and feelings, but she couldn’t access them.  She was too deep, and that was okay.  She’d stay here a while longer, she thought dreamily.  It was comfortable.

                She drifted for a while, just under the edge of consciousness.  It was a good place to be, but the longer she was there, the lighter the darkness became, and the closer she was to the surface.  She felt the brush of a hand, the warmth of skin, and the torrent of information began.  She saw the cave, the battle with Lucifer, but this time she saw all of the things she’d missed.  She saw herself as the others must have, seemingly crazed with power and surrounded by the demon smoke.  She saw Castiel, bloodied and battered, Dean’s hands reaching to help.  Sam was there, gesturing wildly at Dean as they both ducked the detritus of the attack.  She felt Dean’s panic and fear and anger as she watched herself reach into the core being of an archangel, grasping wildly at his grace.  Finally, she saw herself as she turned to look at Dean, her eyes black as empty pits, her face devoid of humanity.

                Elise jolted into consciousness, sitting up and shoving away the hands that were touching her.  “No!” she shouted, gasping for air, clutching at her chest, feeling all of the panic of the memory she’d seen. 

                “You’re okay, sweetheart,” she heard, the voice familiar and warm.  She looked up, finding Dean there.  His green eyes were full of concern, but his mouth was smiling.  “You’re okay now.”  He reached out slowly, letting her see what he was doing.  His hand grasped her arm, and his calm feelings flooded through her, erasing her panic.  “Alright?”

                “I’m not…” She hesitated, worried.  Her breathing was still laboured.  She didn’t quite know how to ask what she needed to ask.  “My eyes – they were black.”

                Dean’s smile faltered.  “They were,” he said.  “But when we broke the spell, that went away.”

                Elise looked down at her arms.  The sigil was gone, her blood washed from her skin.  There was no mark to show where Dean had sliced through her skin to break the spell.  The bands were gone too, but her wrists bore scars, two thick lines cut into her skin where they’d burned during the spell.  She touched them.  “You cut the sigil,” she said, looking to Dean.  “I saw myself, in your memory.”  She shuddered.  “What happened next?”

                “I broke the spell just as Rowena was grabbing Lucifer.  You told him to go to Hell, then you passed out.”  Dean smirked.  “It was a pretty good exit line.  Once he was gone, we cleaned up and got out of there.”

                “What happened to Crowley?” Elise asked. 

                “He’d fought with Lucifer outside, and he lost.  Lucifer found the mark you’d put on Crowley and destroyed it before he dragged him into the cave.  Apparently, Lucifer thought that was the mark to use the book.  Crowley was out for a few minutes when he hit the wall, and then when you worked the spell, he was pulled into that.  He was completely powerless, so he played possum until it was over.”  Dean rolled his eyes.  “As soon as he knew Lucifer was gone for good, Crowley ran off to Hell to start getting his kingdom back in order.”

                Elise nodded, taking it in.  “And Rowena?”

                Dean chuckled.  “She made a play for the book, like you said.  Sammy was ready and handled it.”

                “Cas?”

                “He’s fine,” Dean said.  “He healed the slash on your arm.”  Dean looked away from her, for just a moment, and Elise knew something was up.  She listened, finding the answer in Dean’s thoughts.  Cas didn’t trust Elise; he was worried that the demon spell would have residual effects on her. 

                “He’s waiting for me to go dark side, isn’t he?”  Elise asked.

                Dean shrugged.  “He’s being cautious, he says.  He wants to keep an eye on you for a while.”  Elise took a deep breath.  “Look, Elise, you aren’t possessed.  You weren’t possessed when you worked the spell – you were in control, not the demons.” Dean paused, thinking of her black eyes, remembering that he cut the sigil because she seemed to be drowning in the depths of the spell.  “You’ve got the anti-possession tattoo, so you can’t be possessed, and there’s no demon influence left over from the spell.”  Dean was thinking of her as she slept, of the holy water they’d poured over her, of the look of relief on Sam’s face when she didn’t react, and the look of distrust on Castiel’s face. 

                “You tested me.” 

                “Cas insisted.  I told him it was ridiculous.”

                Elise shook her head, and moved to swing her legs over the side of the bed.  “Well, let’s go see Cas so he can relax,” she said.  She stood up, and her vision swam.  She felt herself falling. 

                “Elise!”  Dean reached out to steady her, pushing her back to the bed.  “Take it easy,” he warned.  “You’ve been out for about 36 hours.”

                She took a deep breath, waiting for her head to feel centered again.  Dean moved to stand in front of her, holding a bottle of water.  She drank carefully, not wanting to move too quickly.  After a minute, and half the bottle, she felt better.  “Okay,” she said.  “Let’s go.”  Dean held out a hand for her, helping her to her feet.  “How do you feel about cooking me a burger?”  She looked at Dean.  “I need to get something in my stomach, or else I’ll keep feeling dizzy and weak.”  
                Dean slipped his arm around her waist.  “Yeah, maybe I’ll just hold onto you until you feel better,” he said.  She took a few steps, feeling more clear with each one.  “If you’d been out much longer, Sam was going to insist on taking you to a doctor.  He was worried.”

                “Sam was worried?  What about you?” Elise teased.

                “I knew you’d be fine,” Dean said, holding her as she walked.  “I don’t know how, but whenever I touched you, I was sure you’d be okay.”  She listened to his thoughts as they moved, his body warm against hers.  Something had shifted between them when they’d taken that road trip; Dean was more open with her now, more comfortable with sharing thoughts and feelings.  She saw herself in his memories again, unconscious on the back seat of the Impala, her head in Dean’s lap as Sam drove.  Elise tightened her hold around Dean, grasping his hand.  He turned as they walked and dropped a kiss on top of her head. 

                In the main room, Sam and Cas sat at the table.  Sam was working at his laptop, and Castiel was doing his ‘angel-of-the-lord’ absent staring routine.  They turned when Elise and Dean entered the room.

                “Elise!” Sam said, standing up and crossing the room to greet her.  He pulled her away from Dean and wrapped her in a hug.  “How are you feeling?”

                “Good,” she said, letting Sam’s genuine concern wash over her.  “A little weak,” she went on, peeking around Sam to look at Cas, “but not at all despotic or malevolent.”  Behind her, Dean snorted.  Sam’s laugh was more carefree.

                “See, Cas?” he said, happily.  “She’s fine.”  He let Elise out of his arms, guiding her to sit down at the table. 

                The angel looked at her carefully, his features schooled into a disapproving expression.  “She does seem normal,” he agreed.  “I am not sure how the spell affected her.  The black eyes were concerning.”

                Sam sat back down beside Elise, and Dean moved to stand behind her.  “Come on, Cas,” he said, exasperated.  “We tested her.  No response.  She’s back to the way she was before.”

                Castiel’s eyebrow went up.  “How can you be sure, Dean?”  He looked at Elise.  “The spell was meant for a demon to perform, or an angel.  I am surprised it did not kill Elise, as she is human.  It would not be unusual for it to have a lasting effect on her.”

                Elise spoke up.  “You can go check the book yourself, if you want.  I assume it’s locked up in your vaults?”  Sam nodded.  “It doesn’t say that the spell has to be performed by an angel.”

                “It said the host could be one who possessed the grace of an angel,” Dean said as he stepped around the table to face Elise.  She felt his realization.  “When we read that the first time, back in the panic room, you knew you could work the spell, didn’t you?”  His voice was rising.  “Was this your plan all along?”

                Elise closed her eyes for a moment.  The force of Dean’s sudden anger was heavy, and she felt the press of it heavily in her weakened state. 

                “Dean,” Sam said, warning in his voice. 

                “Elise?” Dean demanded, wanting an answer.  “Was it?”

                “No,” she said, opening her eyes to find his green ones blazing at her.  “It was never my plan.  I wasn’t even absolutely sure it would work.  But I thought there was a chance, and I wanted to be prepared in case things went badly with Lucifer.”

                 “So all along, you knew you could probably work the spell but you didn’t think you should mention it to us?” Dean’s voice was thunderous now.  “You just kept it a secret?”

                “I wasn’t planning to work the spell myself, Dean!” Elise shouted back.  “But yes, I knew it could work that way.  The minute Castiel told me I had an angel’s grace inside me, I remembered that page in the book.”  Her own anger was rising now.  “I didn’t need to go to Shreveport to see the spell.  I knew the damn spell!  I went to Shreveport to re-read what it said about the host!  We needed to have every possible tool in our arsenal, so I made sure I knew the rules.”

                “Guys,” Sam said, reaching out and putting a hand on Elise’s arm.  “Calm down.”

                Dean started to shout again, but Elise cut back in.  “I’ve seen your memories, Dean!  I knew how it could go with Lucifer.  I knew he’d expect all of you to go in, angel blades in hand.  But I was an unknown! I had a chance!” She stood, made steady by her anger.  “And I’m not sorry, because it worked!”

                “So you did plan it all along!” Dean shouted.

                “I figured I was a better choice than Crowley, if it came to that,” she said.  “But I really, really hoped that Castiel would be able to work the spell.”  She sat down again, melting into the chair, her anger gone.  She looked at Cas.  “I imagine that you would have been able to control it much better than I did.”

                Across the table, Dean huffed.  “Reckless,” he said.  Sam’s hand was still on Elise’s arm, and she could hear his opinion on Dean’s behavior while hunting.  _Hypocrite._   She let out a small laugh.  Dean narrowed his eyes at her.

                She gave him a tight smile.  “I really wasn’t planning on being the one to use the spell,” she said, her voice a promise.  “It was supposed to be a last-ditch backup plan.”

                “It was a good plan,” Sam offered.  “It saved us.”

                “Why didn’t you tell us?” Dean’s anger was settling, but he wasn’t done yet.

                Elise sighed.  “What would you have said, Dean?  What would you have told me if I had explained my plan?”

                “I would have told you it was idiotic and dangerous and to leave it to Cas!”

                Elise nodded, satisfied.  “That’s why.”

                Dean threw his hands up in the air.  “Fine.”  He walked to the doorway.  “You know what?  Do what you want.  I’m going to make some burgers.”  He stalked out of the room.

                This time it was Sam’s turn to sigh.  “Just give him a little time, Elise,” he said.  “He’ll calm down.”

                “He always does that, doesn’t he?” she asked.  “Yell at you guys if you take the risk instead of him?”

                “Yes,” Sam and Castiel answered at once.

                “If I’d told him, he would have found a way to stop me from working the spell,” she said.  “He would have tried so hard to protect me that it would have gotten him killed.”  She looked at Sam, then Cas, and found sympathy in both of their faces.  “I didn’t want him to be responsible for anything else.”

                “But that’s who Dean is,” Sam replied.  “He feels like he’s responsible for all of us.” Memories flashed through his head – Sam drinking demon blood, Cas filled with writhing Leviathans, disaster after disaster, all of them chased by a memory of Dean, his face full of guilt.  “Even if it’s not his fault at all, he thinks it is.”

                “I was trying to do the right thing,” Elise said.  She was thinking of Dean in the motel room, trapped in dreams that horrified him, wrapped up in layers of guilt.  “I was trying to make it easier for him.”

                Sam and Cas exchanged a look.  “We know,” Sam said, gently.  “He does too.  He just doesn’t like it.”

               

 

                Elise went to the kitchen, against her better judgement.  She knew she should let Dean calm down, but she felt like she couldn’t wait.  She stepped into the kitchen, leaning against the door frame.  Dean’s back was to her as he stood at the counter, mixing meat and spices to make patties.  She listened to his thoughts as he worked. 

                _Reckless isn’t even the word,_ he fumed.  _She’s not a hunter and she didn’t know how badly this could have gone._ There was a pause, a second where Dean’s thoughts argued with themselves, and remembered that she’d seen his thoughts and memories enough to realize how badly things could have ended.  _Lucifer could have killed her.  The spell could have killed her.  Then she’d be another person I couldn’t save._ Elise shuddered, thinking of the memories she’d seen when they’d first met, of the nightmares he’d had in the motel.

Elise crossed the kitchen, wrapping her arms around Dean’s middle.  She let her feelings slide through their bond, so Dean could feel them.  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her mouth against the middle of his back.  “I didn’t want to worry you.  I didn’t want you to be stuck with any more responsibility, so I kept it to myself.”  She paused, taking in the smell that was Dean’s, of leather and gunpowder, listening to his feelings as she poured her own into her words and thoughts.  “I should have told you.”

                Dean was remembering now, seeing her as the black smoke poured into the cave and swirled around her.  Elise felt his panic, felt his fear for her, and she realized that her secrecy hadn’t prevented Dean from feeling worried.  “I didn’t know if you’d be okay,” he spoke gruffly, hands still working in front of him.  “All I could do was stand there and hope you could control it.”

                Elise dropped her head, pressing her forehead against Dean’s back.  “I’m so used to going it alone, Dean,” she said.  “And then I met you, and you were so uncomfortable with me at first.  I thought you’d never trust me.  But then something happened when you touched me, and we shared all of these thoughts and feelings and memories, and I knew,” she paused, catching her breath, “I knew how much weight you carried already.  I didn’t want to add to that.  I didn’t want to be another burden.”  Dean tensed beneath her touch.  “I was wrong to not tell you.  I won’t do that again.”

                Dean turned then, inside the circle of her arms.  He looked down at her, his green eyes serious.  “Again?” he said, the question in his voice clear.

                Elise nodded.  “Next time I won’t keep any secrets,” she said, moving her hands to grasp his forearms, letting her palms touch his skin.  _I’ll tell you everything._

Dean sighed.  _You’re not a burden._ His hands were still sticky from the hamburger meat, so he kept them clear of her when he leaned in to press a kiss onto her lips.  “No secrets,” he said.  “And no more stunts like that.”

                “Agreed,” Elise said.  She stood on her toes, reaching up to pull his face down to hers again.  This time the kiss was longer.  When it broke, she kept his face close to hers, smiling.  _We good?_

He pressed a kiss onto her forehead and sighed.  “Yeah, we’re good.  Now go sit down until you get some food in you, please.”

                Elise moved across the room and sat at the table in the kitchen, watching Dean cook.  He hummed contentedly, ACDC tunes of course, as he made burgers.  When the smell of the beef permeated the bunker, Sam and Cas wandered in and sat with her until the food was ready.  The four of them sat together, laughing and talking, for hours.  Eventually, Cas went off to the library to read some ancient book he’d found, and Sam headed to his room for the night, leaving Elise and Dean alone in the kitchen.

                There were a few minutes of silence, then Dean spoke, toying with the label on his bottle of beer.  “So it’s over,” he said, sitting back in his chair, avoiding her eyes.  “And you survived.”

                “I did,” she agreed, watching his face.

                “What are you going to do next?” he asked.  Elise knew he was thinking about the conversation they’d had back in Shreveport, sitting on the couch together. 

                Elise closed her eyes for a moment, trying to imagine her future.  She couldn’t picture a house or kids anymore, couldn’t even imagine going back to her job at the bakery.  All she could see was Dean.  She leaned forward to touch his skin, finding a place for her fingers on his arm.  She opened her eyes to find him staring at her, and she listened carefully to his thoughts.  He was picturing them together, hoping she’d stay.

                “I’d like to stay,” she said, smiling at him.  “With you.”

                She felt a wave of relief from him.  She grabbed his hand and squeezed it tightly, letting her certainty replace his worry.  “Are you sure?” he asked.  “Because my life’s a mess, Elise.  You know that.  We got rid of Lucifer, but something else will pop up.  It always does.”

                Elise shrugged.  “Then we’ll deal with it,” she said. 

                Dean stood up abruptly.  He tugged her to her feet and wrapped her in his arms.  He buried his face in her hair and hugged her, hard.  Then, without warning, he swept her up into his arms.  Elise giggled, realizing that she’d done that so much more since she’d gotten to know Dean.  “Let’s go to bed,” he told her.  He leaned in to kiss her, a soft press of his lips against hers. 

                “Sounds good,” she murmured.  She put her arms around his neck, smiling at him.  “Sounds perfect, in fact.”  She let herself relax in his arms as he carried her down the hall, toward the next adventure, whatever it would be.  “Hey Dean,” she said, warm and safe in his arms.  “Remember the first day I was here?”

                “Yeah,” he said, sounding confused, and she knew he was wondering where she was going with this.

                “Think of something good for me again?” she asked, remembering the first memories Dean had shared with her, of his car, the open road, and Sam.  She was thinking of the joy that seeped through his memories when he recalled those things, the feelings of warmth and happiness that rolled around the edges of those thoughts.  She wondered, now, how Dean’s happy memories would feel to her, without pain and drugs and fear of each other in their way.

                Dean kept walking down the hallway, carrying her easily.  Elise closed her eyes and sunk into his memories, letting her head fall against his chest.  She saw the Impala again, flying down the road, Sam in the passenger seat, the pair of them singing loudly – and badly – to Bon Jovi.  She felt the joy in that moment, the sheer freedom of the road.  She saw Castiel, found after a long absence, safe and trench-coated again, happy to see Dean and Sam.  Dean’s relief was thick in this memory, his feeling of release overwhelming once he’d ascertained the well-being of his best friend.  Then she saw Dean’s mother, a young, beautiful, blonde woman, softly smiling as she baked in the kitchen, the scent of apples and cinnamon heavy in the air.  Elise felt the heat of Dean’s love, deeply rooted in his family, making the memories rich and robust and lively, as if they’d just happened moments ago.  She felt his soul lighten with each of these thoughts, felt him become freer as they moved down the hall and into his bedroom.

                Elise thought Dean was done when he laid her on the bed, but he caught her hand and pressed it to the center of his chest, his hands wrapped around hers.  “One more,” he said, his voice husky.  He closed his eyes, and Elise did the same, falling into his thoughts again. 

                This time, she saw herself, sitting beside Dean in the Impala.  The windows were down, her hair blowing around in the wind, and she was singing quietly to the radio as she stared off into the distance.  It was their trip to Shreveport, she realized.  In Dean’s memories, her voice sounded lovely, and she could smell her own shampoo, a vanilla scent that blew across to Dean when the wind shifted.  Dean spoke to her, teasing her about the song, and she laughed.  Elise felt Dean’s pleasure when she laughed, felt his desire when he watched her smile, and she realized he was showing her this for a reason.  This was one of his happy memories, like the ones of his family, and it was all about her. 

                “Oh,” she said, surprised.  She opened her eyes to find him watching her, waiting to see if she knew what the memory really meant.  Dean wasn’t a guy who wanted to talk about feelings, and Elise knew it took a huge leap of faith for him to let her into his thoughts like this, to give her unimpeded access to his deepest thoughts. 

                She paused for a moment, curling her fingers into his before replying.  She let all of her affection and warmth flow through her thoughts, sure that Dean would feel it as well.  She looked up, into Dean’s eyes, her face serious, as she gave him her response.

                _Me too._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is it - the loose ends have been tied up, and for me, the story's complete. I hope you've enjoyed it. 
> 
> I do have an epilogue idea rattling around in my brain, so I might give that a spin in a few days - no promises though!


	19. Epilogue: Hustle

                The bar was busy for a Tuesday night.  There was karaoke on the stage, and drunken college kids were wailing into the microphone, laughing between verses.  Another group took over the dance floor, bouncing and swaying to the music.  Along the bar, some sort of shot contest was taking place, with tequila being poured freely into a glass between one of the girl’s breasts. 

                It was the quiet, isolated group in the back corner that interested Elise.  A number of men sat there, typical college students, it seemed, playing poker.  The alcove they sat in was like a private room, with a narrow entrance that kept it almost hidden from the rest of the bar.  The guys wore brand-name clothes and had expensive phones, and as she watched, it became clear that this wasn’t a friendly game with nickel bets.  These guys were the rich kids of the college crew, and they were throwing around some serious cash at that table. 

                In other words, they were the perfect targets.  Elise ordered a beer from the bartender, sipping from it as she watched.  When the hand was coming to a close, she walked over to the table.  She knew she looked good – tight jeans, a v-neck shirt, a silver chain dropping into her cleavage.  Her hair brushed her shoulders, curled into soft waves that made guys think of sex hair.  She listened to the guys’ thoughts as she approached, her beer held loosely in her hand.  She heard their appreciation for her figure, their hopes for her approach, their thoughts about which one of them she might be interested in.

                This was going to be easy. 

                “Hi boys,” she said, resting one on the back of a chair, letting her fingers touch someone’s back.  “Room for one more in your game?”

                They exchanged looks.  _She wants to play poker? She won’t be able to keep up with us… maybe I’ll let her sit on my lap and hold my cards…_ Elise smiled brightly at the group, ignoring their thoughts. 

                “No offense, sugar, but this is a serious game over here,” one of them said, taking it on himself to speak for the group.  “We play for some real cash.  You might want to get some of the girls over there and play a lighter game.”

                Elise slipped her fingers into her back pocket, sliding out a wad of bills.  “Oh, I know,” she told him, flashing her cash.  “I came prepared.  One of my friends told me you have a good game here from time to time, and I was hoping to buy in.”  She could hear them calculating her worth, figuring out what they could take her for.  She popped her hip out a little more, pouting just a bit, playing the part they wanted her to play.  “I’m sure you can make room for one more?  I’ve been learning to play, and I’m ready for a real game.”

                Elise could feel the moment they bought her act and decided to let her stay.  They were sure they’d get her money, and most of them were sure they’d get a chance to take her home after the game.  The one who’d spoken glanced around the table, giving the guys a chance to say no.  When no one complained, he slid his chair over a little and waved his hand.  “Pull up a chair, then,” he said, gesturing to the space he’d made.  “But remember, if you lose all your money, we warned you.”

                Elise put all of her energy into the game for the next few hands.  She flirted with the men, betting carefully, listening to their thoughts and figuring out their strategies.  Poker was an easy read for her; everyone was focussed on their cards.  They were thinking so loudly they might as well just turn their cards face up for her.  But she was playing two games here, and poker was just one of them.  She had to play her part, which meant losing all but one hand, so they wouldn’t be suspicious. She giggled and smiled and teased the boys at the table, learning their names and finding out things about them as they played.  One was named Jeff, another was Steve.  The two of them were roommates, so they knew each other really well.  Alex was the third man, the one who’d spoken for the group when Elise asked to join.  The fourth was Richard, a quiet man who watched his cards carefully.  Elise figured he was the best player in the group, and resolved to listen closely to him.

                And then Dean materialized next to the table.  Elise would never get tired of looking at him; he was truly lovely to watch.  His green eyes were watching the cards on the table now.  “Hey fellas,” he said, his voice slurring just a little.  “C’n I play?”  He took a drink from his beer bottle before grinning widely. 

                The group of men exchanged looks again, this time including Elise in their silent conversation.  “Uh, sorry, buddy,” Alex said.  “Private game.”

                Dean looked around the table, his eyes landing on Elise. “You let her play,” he said, still pleasant.  “She just joined you a little while ago.  Come on!  I’ve got money!” He dug into his pocket, coming up with nothing, then switched his beer to his other hand and checked his other pocket, finding a wad of bills.  “See?” he said triumphantly.  He swayed just a little as he waved his bills at the group.

                Sam came over then, reaching out to grab at Dean’s wrist.  “Dean! What are you doing? You promised you wouldn’t play.”

                Dean yanked the money away, stumbling just a little.  “I’m just havin’ fun, Sammy,” he responded.  “Don’t be such a killjoy.”

                Sam’s exasperation was clear.  “Dean, you lost two grand last time,” he said, trying to speak quietly, playing his part in this little tableau.  “You said no more poker.”

                Dean shrugged, tucking the money back into his pocket.  “I lied,” he said simply.  “It’s my money, and I wanna play.”

                Jeff interrupted then.  “Listen, buddy - ”

                “Dean.”  Dean told him, smiling widely again.

                “Okay, Dean,” he said.  “We play for real money here, not small pots.  Your friend there seems kind of angry, so maybe you shouldn’t get involved.”

                Dean waved his hand towards Sam.  “He’s no fun at all.  I’ve got the cash.  Just finished up a long run of nights at work, and it’s burnin’ a hole in my pocket.  So whaddaya say, guys?”

                The men looked at each other, then one shrugged.  “Whatever,” Jeff said.  “Pull up a chair.”  Elise was listening, of course.  _More easy money_ , they thought.  _Even easier than the girl._  

                Dean strutted around the table, stepping in beside Elise.  “Mind if I slide in here, sweetheart?” He winked at her, tugging a chair into place. 

                Elise rolled her eyes.  Sam huffed and stomped off in frustration, and Dean dumped his wad of cash on the table.  “Whass the buy in?”  He shoved money toward the dealer, fumbling with the bills.

                Steve sighed and took Dean’s money.  “Twenty five a hand, buddy,” he said, peeling bills off the stack.  “That’s the minimum.” He handed the rest of the wad back to Dean.  Elise was listening, and she heard his greed, plain as day.  He figured they’d get all that money before the night was over.  Elise dropped her head, trying not to smile. 

                Steve shuffled the cards, laying them out across the table.  He gave the directions for the hand and play began.  Almost immediately, Dean dropped his cards, flashing everyone a queen. 

 _This guy’s gonna lose all his cash_ , Alex thought. 

 _Drunken asshole._ Jeff wasn’t kind with his thoughts.

                “Whoops!” Dean laughed, picking up his card.  “Usually I treat a lady much better than that,” he quipped, putting a hand on Elise’s arm, turning to her. 

                Her thoughts were quick and focused.  _Drop the hand.  Richard’s got three of a kind._ She pushed his hand off her arm, laughing at him.  “I’m sure you do, Dean,” she said.  “But I’m definitely not a lady.”  She winked and flirted with him, just like she had with all of the other men. 

                Neither Elise or Dean called the hand.  Both folded early, letting the others battle for the cash at hand.  In the hand that followed, Dean bid wildly, establishing himself as a reckless player, losing $200 quickly.  Elise had folded again, and sat back with her beer in her hand, watching the cards. 

                Under the table, though, Elise had slipped off her shoe, and had moved her bare foot over to Dean, sliding just up the leg of his pants.  Her bare toes were pressed against his skin, giving them direct communication.  They’d done extensive testing to see how much contact they needed in order for Dean to hear Elise, and had discovered that any amount of skin, on any part of the body, would work.  They’d had an awful lot of fun testing that theory, and had spent a very large amount of time naked together to conduct those tests. 

                With her foot on Dean’s leg, Elise could tell him what cards each man held.  So while Dean acted drunker and drunker, throwing more money at each hand, it was a calculated act.  He lost more hands than he won, but made sure to only lose big if Elise was going to win.  He bowed out of hands that he would have bluffed if he’d been alone, citing a need to save his luck for the next hand. 

                Elise, on the other hand, was picking up a fair bit of cash.  Some of it was Dean’s – to make it look authentic, she made sure to beat him regularly – but the rest came from the other men, who were slowly growing frustrated with the amount of cash they were losing.  Elise listened carefully, watching for signs of suspicion, but there was none.  So she kept giggling and flirting, and raking in their money.

                “I thought you said you were just learning,” Alex said at once point, after Elise had won a pot that had passed the $400 mark.

                “Beginner’s luck?” she laughed, winking at him.  She picked up the cards to shuffle and deal.  “Really, though, this is the first time I’ve played like this.  I usually just play with my friends – one of them taught the rest of us to play.”

                “So how much money have you taken off of them?” Steve grumbled.  “I’m pretty sure you’ve got about $600 of my cash over there now.”

                “Oh, we don’t play for money,” she said.  “We’ve been learning with chips but no real cash.”  She dealt the cards around the table.  “But I wanted to try it for real tonight,” she said, laying the deck aside. 

                Dean looked at her, incredulous.  “Wait a minute,” he said, pointing at her.  “Are you telling me this is your first time playing real poker?  And you’re winnin’ all our money?”  He looked around the table at the other men. 

                “Yep,” she said, smiling shyly.

                Dean huffed.  “Beginner’s luck,” he grumbled, chucking out a couple of his cards.  “Hate to see you in a few months, once you’ve played more.”  The other men rumbled their agreement.  _Time to clue it up, sweetheart.  This kind of questioning makes me nervous._

                Elise sorted her own cards, but once she’d listened around the table she realized she should fold.  Her own hand held nothing, but Dean had two pairs, jack high.  Alex and Richard both had hands that could work, if they were lucky with their next cards.  She thought at Dean, letting him know what they held.  She lay her cards facedown.  “Alright, gentlemen,” she said.  “Let’s play this hand, and then I’m thinking I should head out for the night.”

                A chorus of disagreement went around the table.

                “You have to let us win back some of our money, babe,” Steve said, looking enviously at her take.  He shuffled his own cards, thinking that the pair he held was awful, but he might be able to bluff.  “Just a few more hands.”

                Elise raised her hands, laughing.  “It’s late, Steve,” she said, making eye contact and smiling.  She gestured to the nearly empty bar.  “I have to work in the morning.”  She winked at him.  “Taking your money tonight won’t pay my bills, sweetie.”  She laughed gently.

                Steve blushed and fidgeted with his cards. 

                Elise picked up the deck, ready to deal the hand.  She turned to Alex, on her left. 

                “I’ll take two,” he said.  Elise dealt.  Jeff and Steve both took three cards, and Richard only asked for one.  She raised her eyebrow and smiled at him as she passed him the card. 

                “Dean?” she asked, turning to her right.  _Watch Alex and Richard._ “How many for you?”

                Dean smiled, a slow, charming smile that warmed her to the core.  “Just one, sweetheart,” he said.  She passed him the card and he left it on the table, not even glancing at it.  Elise took three for herself and then set the deck aside.

                Elise listened around the table.  Alex had come up with three of a kind, but they were low cards – just fours.  Jeff had a pair, sevens, but that was it.  Steve had nothing.  Richard had been hoping for a small straight, but hadn’t pulled the card he needed, so his hand was empty.  He was going to bluff, though, and if he’d been playing with anyone else, he would have won.  His poker face was excellent.  But with Elise at the table, he didn’t have a chance.  Dean still hadn’t looked at the card he’d drawn.  Elise resisted the temptation to roll her eyes at him, and instead, she pressed her toes into his skin.  _Alex has three of a kind.  Richard’s hand is empty._

                “Alright, boys,” Elise said.  “Let’s play the hand.”

                Alex bet, and he had decided to go big.  He dropped $100 on the table as his opening bet.  Jeff whistled, long and low, thinking for a minute before he folded.  Steve folded right away.  Elise could hear him thinking about how much money he’d already lost, and how mad his father would be. 

                Richard shuffled his cards carefully, eyeing Alex, then Dean and Elise, measuring them, it seemed.  He leaned forward, cards in one hand.  “I’ll see your hundred, Alex,” he said, casually, “and I’ll raise you another hundred.” 

                Alex smirked across the table.  He’d have to wait, but even without her abilities, Elise knew he’d meet Richard’s challenge.  They’d played enough together that he thought he could tell when Richard was bluffing.

                Dean spoke next.  “Big hand,” he commented, reaching to take a drink from his beer.  He glanced at the cards in his hand, then looked at the one on the table, the card he had not yet read.  “Count me in.”  He pushed his money to the centre of the table.

                Elise folded.  “Nothing over here, boys,” she said, dropping her cards.  “My luck’s run dry, it seems.” 

                Dean and Richard turned to Alex.  He was already pulling bills from his stack.  “Alright, Richard,” he said.  “I’ll see your $200.” He reached out with the money.  The pot for the hand was growing quickly.  With the $25 ante for each player, plus each man’s bets, $750 was up for grabs.  It wasn’t a lot of money by a professional player’s standards, but for a casual game in a bar, it was a big hand.  Elise was running numbers in her head.  She’d started with about $1500 in her pocket, but after the couple of hours she’d played, she had a little over $3500 in her kitty – and that was just from the four men.  She wasn’t counting any of the money she’d taken from Dean.

                Alex chuckled.  Elise realized he wasn’t finished.  He was flipping through a stack of bills, counting.  “You know what, Richard? Dean?  I got $300 left here, so I’ll raise you $300 more.”  He dropped his bills into the centre of the table. 

                Elise pressed her toes into Dean’s flesh.  _Two pairs does NOT beat Alex’s three of a kind.  Check your damn card before you bet._  

                Richard studied his cards, then studied the two other men.  _Are they bluffing?_  His thoughts were on their ability to trick him, not on his cards.  He knew he didn’t have the cards, but what he didn’t know what their cards.  _Alex laughs more when he bluffs,_ he thought. _He’s got nothing.  And the new guy… well, he’s drunk.  He’s been losing all night._ His thoughts spun, quick to start and stop. 

                “I’m in,” he said quietly, tipping his head.  He counted the $300 off, adding it to the pile. 

                Both men turned to Dean.  He smirked at them both before picking up the card in front of him.  Elise listened carefully to his thoughts.  With $1350 on the table, she hoped Dean had pulled a card that would help him.  He held two jacks and two tens, so either one would give him the full house and take the hand.  He tapped the card on the table before turning its face toward him.

_Jack._

                Dean shuffled the card in with the others.  “Well, fellas,” he said, good naturedly, “I’m pretty sure I can take you both.”  He shoved $300 into the pot, laughing as he did so.  “Been losin’ all night, but this hand’s a winner.”  Neither one of the men really believed him, since he’d been saying things like that all night long. 

                “We’ll see,” Richard said.  He nodded his head at Alex.  “Let’s see your cards.”  Alex laid out his hand, showing his three fours.  Richard dropped his own cards. “Damn,” he swore softly.  “You actually had cards.  I was sure you were bluffing.”

                Alex grinned.  “Got ya this time, buddy,” he said to Richard.  He turned to Dean.  “Alright, Dean.  Show your cards.”  Alex was practically buzzing.  He was sure he’d beaten Dean. 

                Dean smirked again, but this time, his look was sharp and predatory.  “You sure you want to see them, Alex?”  he asked, grinning.  “You’re not going to like it.”

                The smile started to drop from Alex’s face.  Dean laid his cards out, slowly, revealing a full house.  Alex wasn’t smiling now.  His mind was working, fast now, calculating how much money he’d lost.  Dean reached forward and picked up his cash, arranging it into a neat stack.  “Nice workin’ with you, fellas,” he said, folding the bills and sliding them into his pocket.  “Since I finally won a good hand, I think I’ll call it a night.”  He pushed his chair back from the table, standing up and drinking the last of his beer. 

                Elise quickly slipped her foot back into her shoe, and reached for her own stack of cash.  “Yeah, I’m out as well,” she agreed.  “Thanks for letting me play, boys,” she said, winking at them.  She leaned down and planted a quick kiss on Richard’s cheek.  “I had a great time.” 

                Dean reached over and put his hand on her arm.  “Hey,” he said, leaning in.  “You want to share a cab?” 

                Elise tilted her head, pretending to think about it.  “I don’t think so,” she laughed, teasingly.  “You’re not really my type.”  She tossed a look back at Richard.  She’d listened to his thoughts all night, and she knew he was too shy to make a move on her, so she was safe to flirt a little more, make them forget she’d taken all their cash. 

                Dean laughed, still playing the drunk.  “Well, well,” he chuckled.  He kept his hand on her arm.  _You’re killing me with this, sweetheart._   “Let me walk you out and put you in a cab, then,” he said.  “I’ll make sure you’re safe, at least.”

                Elise said goodbye to the others, and agreed to let Dean walk her out.  She could hear them grumbling to each other, speculating about whether or not Dean had a chance with her.  When they got to the door, she spoke quietly to Dean.  “You’d better go back in for one more drink before you leave.”  She glanced back at the guys, waving goodbye when she saw them watching.  “We shouldn’t leave together.”

                Dean followed her eyes, then reached for her arm again.  “You sure?” he teased.  “You don’t want them to think we won all their money, and got lucky?” 

                Elise laughed, then shook her head.  “If they ask, tell them you tried for my number and I shot you down,” she said.  “I’m going to go hang out with Sam at the motel.  I’ll see you in a little bit?”

                Dean pushed the door of the bar open and waved to a cab.  “If I asked for your number, baby, you’d definitely give it to me,” he said, winking.  “One more beer and then you’re all mine.  See you soon.”

                Elise touched his arm as she went out the door.  _Oh, I’ll give you my number – I’ll give you anything you want._ She felt arousal spike through Dean as she walked away.

                “That’s cruel,” he muttered, turning to go back into the bar.

 

 

 

                Back at the motel, Elise stopped by Sam’s room as soon as she got in.  He had a book in his hand, waiting to hear from Elise and Dean.  “How’d you make out?” he asked.

                Elise pulled the cash from her pocket.  “I’d say I cleared about $2000 tonight,” she said.  Sam raised his eyebrow, thinking that it looked like more.  “Yeah, some of this is money I took from Dean during the game – I didn’t count that.”  Sam was still surprised when she picked up his thoughts, but she couldn’t help it.  She’d gotten so used to the brothers that they both broadcast very clearly to her.  She tucked the money back into her pocket.  “Dean took the last hand, though, so he’s got at least another $1300 there.”

                Sam was impressed.  “You want to wait here for Dean?”

                Elise shook her head.  “I think I’ll go back and get ready for bed,” she said.  “He won’t be long, and we’ve got a long drive tomorrow.”  They’d just finished a hunt, and they were all tired.  But opportunities to pick up cash were too good to pass up, especially on the road and far away from the bunker, so they’d gone out for the night.

                Sam nodded.  “We don’t have to leave really early,” he told her.  “Unless Dean wants to get moving earlier, let’s say ten o’clock?”

                Elise grinned.  “Perfect.  I’d like to sleep in a little.”  She said goodnight to Sam and headed to her room.

                By the time Dean arrived, just half an hour later, Elise had brushed her teeth and changed into her pajamas, and was sitting on the bed checking her email.  Her hand went to her gun when she heard footsteps outside the door – she was always ready, always prepared for a fight – but she heard Dean’s thoughts before he even took out his key.  He was picturing her, naked, knowing that she’d hear him as he approached.  Elise giggled and put the weapon back on the table.

                “Hey sweetheart.”  Dean’s husky voice made her feel warm inside.  “We did well tonight,” he said.  He shrugged out of his jacket, throwing it on the table.  He pulled the cash from his jeans pocket, dropping it on the table as well.  “Did those guys suspect anything?”

                “Nope,” she answered, closing her laptop and setting it aside.  “They thought you were a hopeless drunk.”

                “And what did they think of you?” Dean asked, moving toward her. 

                “They thought I was too cute to be a hustler,” she said, looking up at him from beneath her lashes.  “They were all wondering if they could take me home at the end of the game.”

                Dean sat beside her on the bed, and in one swift move, he’d pulled her onto his lap.  “Well, you are pretty cute,” he agreed.  He ran his hands along her body, softly.  “And I guess I won more than just their money, since I’m the one who got to take you home.” 

                Elise giggled.  She found herself doing that a lot more since she’d been with Dean; something about spending time with him was freeing.  The book was safely locked up, as were the bands.  She hadn’t seen a demon since she’d slammed Lucifer back in his cage, and she was beginning to feel safe.  She felt lighter, happier, since she’d been living with the brothers.  Even when they hunted, when they came back covered in blood and gore, she felt like things would be okay.  But it was being with Dean – who, beneath his tough shell, was sensitive and warm – that made her feel relaxed enough to giggle.  “I think I’m the one who won most of the money,” she said, laughing. 

                Dean raised one eyebrow before leaning in to kiss her.  She felt desire rush through them both, like liquid fire, burning a path from nerve to nerve.  Dean pulled her closer, fitting her body against his, letting the warmth of their bodies melt together.  She thought, as she always did, of that first time they’d been together, back in Shreveport.  _This is what I wanted.  This is what I need._   She ran her hands through his hair, caught his bottom lip between her teeth, felt his tongue trace her teeth.   She sighed, pulling away from the kiss and burying her face in Dean’s neck.

                “Hey,” he said, and she felt his voice, rough in his chest.  “You okay?”

                She kissed his neck, lightly.  “Yeah,” she replied.  She searched for words, not finding them.  She was overwhelmed, suddenly, by the depth of her own feelings.  Dean’s hand came up to stroke along the back of her neck, resting there, and he waited, feeling her uncertainty as surely as he felt her lips on his skin.  “I don’t know how to explain,” she said, quietly.  “It just hit me, how right this feels.”  She paused, thinking.  “I’m just happy, I think.  Really happy.”

                Dean chuckled, his laughter rumbling against her.  “And you had to stop kissing me because of it?”  He waited for her to lift her head up and look at him.  He smiled, and his green eyes were practically luminescent.  “I’m happy too, Elise.”  His hands slipped under her shirt, warm against her skin.  _You make me happy_.  He rolled his hips beneath her, pressing his hardness upwards.  “Really happy.”  He winked.

                Elise giggled again, the weight of her feelings released by Dean’s acceptance.  She grasped his shirt, tugging it over his head.  He returned the favour, then reached up to release her bra.  He tugged her closer, so they sat chest to chest, knowing how much she loved the feel of his skin against hers.  Touching Dean was like touching no one else; his thoughts didn’t overpower her or weigh her down.  They threaded through her consciousness in a way that made them easy to accept, weaving into her own to become part of her thought process.  She sank into his warmth, his wanting, as his broad hands spanned her back.  She sighed and settled into his embrace, letting his happiness soak into her skin.  He stroked his hands over her skin, kissing her slowly and tenderly, thumbs rubbing slowly over her most sensitive skin.  Soon, he’d unbuttoned her jeans, and in one smooth movement, he’d rolled her over onto the bed.  He tugged her jeans and panties away, then removed his own clothes before coming to lie beside her. 

                Hands still wandering, both of them breathing in short gasps of pleasure, they stroked and touched each other nearly to the edge before Dean was on top of her, giving her exactly what she wanted and needed.  He was close too, his pace hurried and needy.  Her hands grasped at his skin, trying desperately to hold onto something.  _I love this_ , she thought, lost in the moment.  _I love you._

                And she exploded then, crying out in pleasure, taking Dean with her into the moment.  Panting, recovering, he levelled his gaze with hers, eyes sharp.  He didn’t say a word, just held her look with his own, and focused on letting his thoughts and feelings slide between them.  And she felt them, more clearly than anything she’d felt in her whole life.

 _I love you too_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wanted to see Elise and Dean hustle poker together. I don't know why, but I thought it would be a fun epilogue. I know there's no real conflict or substance; I pretty much wrote it to please myself. It would be a lovely bonus if it pleased some of you as well, so feel free to let me know what you thought.


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